Transference
by semiramis72
Summary: Enterprise gets a counselor 3.5 years into its 5 year mission, and she conducts some "behavioral research" with Spock. It gets messy, eventually. OC/Spock, centrally. Rated M because it's grown folks doing grown folks' business.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: _**_I didn't create nor do I own "Star Trek." Just borrowing the 'verse for sheer entertainment._

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I'm fed up because of him.

No, strike that. I'm pent up and it's beginning to affect my job. I have one of the best assignments in my field—no, in Starfleet—and I'm starting to slip. And I can't, because apparently, I'm a first. I still think that Starfleet assigning the _Enterprise_ a ship's counselor three and a half years into her five-year mission was a little late, but they're counting on me to keep the crew mentally intact. Well, for the most part. They've been through so much already, especially their captain and bridge officers. I've read the logs and ship's archives and been astounded. I'm grateful because I get to study the personification of Freud's psychic apparatus up close and personal.

Right now the super-ego's sitting across from me, silent, pretending not to be irritated I'm wasting his time again. He's sitting up straight on my obligatory couch, not comfortable with it or me. No, not me—what my position represents. "Doctor, I am of sound mind and do not pose a risk of mental defect or deterioration."

"I'm sure, Commander. Still, Starfleet has mandated that I make that determination and evaluate you and your colleagues periodically." I'm used to saying this to him; it's become rote in the past two months. As an exopsychologist I know that Vulcans are very private about their bodies and much more so about their minds. Which is a shame, given their beautiful minds—and this one's attractive body.

"It is illogical to expect me to talk about emotions."

I shrug. "Who says you have to talk about emotions?"

"Doctor, considering your field, is it not expected that I lie on this couch and discuss how I am feeling so that you may analyze my mental state?"

"I'd say you're giving me plenty to work with as it is. And I'm sure I'm the only one who lies on the couch. Between you and me—" I lean forward and whisper—"the only reason it's here is because I take naps when I don't have sessions. You won't tell Doctor McCoy, will you?" I wink, and it elicits a raise of one gracefully-arched eyebrow. I have a habit of using humour to deflect, to obfuscate my real feelings. It serves me well, especially now.

I have to be very careful with him. I mustn't give him any outward indication of what the thought of his lean form splayed out on my couch is doing to me. I'm mindful of my head tilt. "Look, it's your hour, Mr. Spock. You may do with it what you wish." I uncross my legs and take note that his eyes followed the movement for a split second. I add, "You have an extremely quaint idea of my field. That's expected from Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy. They even refer to me by the antiquated and distasteful term 'shrink'. Well, given that our good doctor is called 'Bones,' I can overlook that." I laugh, a small one, just for me. "But you're far too intelligent, well-informed, and logical for such an attitude. I didn't expect you to be so annoyed about our sessions."

Spock lets his exhale become slightly audible. "Annoyance is an emotion, Doctor."

"So it is. We both know not all Vulcans are not completely devoid of them, pesky as they may be." I lean forward a bit. "Did it occur to you that I help people manage their emotions so they're able to act rationally?"

"Yes. And I did not mean that your services were not needed, given the majority of the crew is human. Our Chief Medical Officer would benefit greatly from your therapy."

"We're not here to talk about Doctor McCoy. We're here to talk about you."

"I fail to see the logic in my presence here, as I am not human."

"You're not wholly human," I correct. "Which is more of a reason I should discover what I can about that magnificent—" I can't conceal a grin here—"_mind_ of yours. These sessions are more for research, but if you should ever need a different perspective to help you sort things out, well, I'm here for that too. Is that sufficient elucidation for you?"

Spock takes a moment to process what I said. "Yes, Doctor. You need me. But I do not anticipate a time where I will need you."

"Don't be so sure," I reply coolly. I tap my stylus against my lip before placing my PADD down on my lap. I ensure I have direct eye contact before speaking again; it's an easy task as Spock rarely takes his eyes off my face. "You intrigue me to no end, Mr. Spock." My tone of voice becomes softer, lower. "Your superlative intellect and physical prowess aside, I'm drawn in by your contradictions."

"Explain."

"You prefer the 'graspable,' the 'concrete', yet you hold a high regard for art and music, and they are seldom concrete. You express an amount of disdain for your emotional human comrades, yet you would sacrifice your life for them. You say you don't want command, but you don't shirk it. You've proven time and again that you are an apt leader. You say emotions are alien to you, yet you show empathy, even tenderness on occasion. How very strange you know what to say and do to assuage our more disagreeable emotions, despite claiming they are foreign to you."

Spock sits back on the couch a bit, preparing to be righteously indignant. "Doctor—"

"No offense," I interject. "I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation. Still, these contradictions make you admirable, even..._desirable_—" There's a moment where I think I see something in the Vulcan's expression that isn't discomfort, but it's gone just as fast. I know I slipped, and I need to recover. I inhale and add, "—in a Starfleet officer, especially in a second-in-command. I mean, your empathy and selflessness—without them, you'd probably be a sociopath." I don't think I've said enough. "Well, if you were human and lacked your extraordinary mental discipline."

"Indeed, Doctor. I have to maintain control of my emotions. It can be…challenging at times when presented with…distractions." I've noticed his stare has become intense, and I have to tear my gaze away from his before I stop breathing. I look down at his hands resting on his lap, and notice the long, immaculate, slender fingers. I know the nerve endings in a Vulcan's hand are more sensitive than a human's. Especially the fingertips. It occurs to me that I've observed Spock touch damn near _everything_. I wonder what information he would gather if he touched my skin, my lips...

If I was trying to compose myself, I failed. Miserably. I cross my legs and swallow. "Distracted? You, Mr. Spock?" I feign an incredulous expression. "That's rare, given the effort it must take for you to compartmentalize your emotions, stuff them in a little box and pretend you don't have them. That must take quite a toll. Do you get exhausted?"

"That is hardly an issue, Doctor. Vulcans possess increased physical and mental stamina. But not even Vulcans are invulnerable." I notice he has a slight grip on his right thigh. Interesting_._

"No, I suppose not. But it's relative, isn't it?" I shrug. "I mean, compared to humans. If we did that, the increased stress would kill us eventually—that is if we didn't 'blow up' at an inappropriate time or have a nervous breakdown."

"But some of you show a remarkable amount or restraint, more or less." It looks like a corner of Spock's lip is turning up, but it isn't—it's in his eyes. How in the hell does he _do_ that? "For instance, I find it fascinating you are able to maintain a somewhat rational conversation despite your aroused state."

I make the same mistake every human makes when dealing with Spock—assuming he's too much of an ascetic to not be aware of or affected by attraction. I see that now, in his eyes, in the slight hesitation, the timbre of his voice, his hand. It isn't so much what Spock _says_ but in those subtle indicators. And we're getting into some dangerous territory, taking the focus off him and putting it on me. But all the same, I'd like to hear it from him. "Funny, I didn't know I have a tell." I cross my arms and lean to the side of my chair slightly. "Specify."

"Since I have entered this office, you have exhibited an increased pupillary response, your breathing and voice have deepened, your scent has the presence of pheromones, and your heart rate has increased." His tone is matter-of-fact.

"Yes," I counter. "And my tricorder would give a reading of a marked increase of adrenalin, dopamine, serotonin, and oestrogen—"

"Ms. Parker, you clearly have an urge to mate." Spock pays attention to detail, using the proper form for a once-married human female.

"It's a physiological response," I say mildly. "It'll pass. Eventually." I smirk. "Not having a mating cycle makes it more of a craving than a biological imperative. It's not like I'll die if I don't have sex."

Spock responds with a rather pointed look. Now he's egging me on, the tease.

"I know it's something you don't discuss in polite conversation—"

"Doctor, we do not discuss it. Ever." I walk in and Spock shuts the trap.

There's enough room to wiggle out. "Tough. You brought it up," I point out. I sit up in my chair. "Indulge me."

Spock's lips become a thin line, but he protests no further.

"I know you _have_ to mate every seven years, but does a Vulcan male have enough mind over matter to do it because he _wants_ to? I mean, if he wanted to? Which we know is purely hypothetical, as—"

"Affirmative, Doctor. 'Cravings', as you put it, are known to us." Again, emotionless, matter-of-fact. But his gaze told a different story.

I wish he lied, because half my brain is in collusion with my hormones. I'm wondering how his lips are so pink, and if I bit his bottom lip would it turn green as it's engorged with blood, and speaking of engorged with blood—

A chime goes off, a light, tinny sound, breaking the spell. "That's our time, Commander," I say, standing up. I watch him stand up in kind, hands behind his back in a modified parade rest. "Until our next session. That is, unless I've made you too uncomfortable. My apologies."

"They are not needed, Doctor. The experience was not unpleasant."

I nod and go over to the door; I have to slide the In Session placard out of its bracket. I managed to get him to talk about emotions. As a bonus, I got him to talk about sex without getting embarrassed. Or rather, pretending to not be embarrassed. It's off the record, but not a bad day's work.

Before he leaves, Spock turns to me and adds, "You underestimate yourself, Doctor Parker."

I stare at the door long after it slides shut behind him. It's going to be a long three weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Three nights hence, and I'm still tossing and turning. I worry if this is just countertransference—if my desire for Spock is a placeholder for feelings for someone else. I sit up on my bed. Countertransference is a pitfall of my profession, and I'm usually vigilant. I throw a coat on over my pyjamas and slip on some shoes. I head to the observation deck; some solitude amongst the stars should give me some perspective.

The problem with my idea is there is no one else here I want. Not like this. I haven't wanted a person like this in a long time. I'm too independent for anyone else to matter. I've been like that for most of my life, even when I was married. What a failed experiment that was. I'll never open myself up like that again, but I have no problem with a hunt.

I think it was my first observation on the bridge when I took interest in the Vulcan first officer. I kinda felt I was watching something magical, the bridge crew at work, and I was encroaching. I thought at the time it should feel that way if everything's going as planned. At the core was Captain Kirk, sat in his chair as he was poured, hands slightly curved around the arms, legs crossed. To his left, Doctor McCoy; to his right, Commander Spock. They didn't belong anywhere else at the time. I told them to pretend I wasn't there; the captain nodded in acknowledgment and looked back at the viewscreen. McCoy smiled cordially, and Spock…just looked at me. His expression was neutral, but he held my gaze about a half-second too long before turning back to the captain. That moment, I figure, is the spark for me.

Kirk's the obvious choice, I think as I step in the turbolift. Heroic, swashbuckling, larger than life, and gorgeous. Don't come between him and the ship, appeal to his ego, make him think I have something he wants, and he's mine. My mother would say that's big game. She's right, but Spock's more elusive quarry. Feminine wiles alone are ineffective. I'm going to have to appeal to his logic, and his superior intellect will make that quite a challenge. Furthermore, he's going to have to come to me; I need to know for certain he wants me.

Spock would make the perfect lover. He wouldn't disclose anything, his intellectual curiosity would make him quite thorough, and he won't become emotionally attached. No, I decide, it's not countertransference. It's something worse. "I could cheat and use Omicron Ceti spores," I say to myself. The doors to the deck open, and I see a female figure silhouetted against the large porthole. I see the blonde hair in profile and decide to back out while I still can.

"Doctor," Nurse Christine Chapel says as she sees me, and I stop dead in my tracks. "It's late for you, isn't it? What brings you here?"

I walk up to the porthole next to her. "I thought we were past titles, Christine. Call me Celeste." I shrug. "I can't sleep."

"Are you alright? I could get Doctor McCoy to prescribe some pills."

I smile and shake my head. "Nothing against the good doctor's healing abilities, but I find that coming here and reminding myself of my small part in this big universe cures what ails me."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, how large can your problems be when space is infinite, with infinite diversity—"

"—in infinite combinations? You're starting to sound like Spock."

I grimace. I came here to not think about him, not talk about him, enter wise mind. She's probably here for the same. Not a person in Medical that doesn't know about Chapel having it bad for Spock. I can relate. "Well, Surak might be on to something, but don't tell our first officer," I say dismissively, looking out the porthole. "Our homeworlds are out there somewhere. We can't see them anymore with our naked eyes, and they're way past sensor array. Millions of light years away and we gotta ask ourselves, 'Is it far enough where we've run?'"

Chapel gives me a puzzled look. "I don't follow you."

"My mother used to say that everyone on a starship is running. Whether they're running away from something, running towards something, or running with someone, they're running."

"Hmm. Why are you running, Celeste?"

I keep my eyes out of the porthole. "Honestly?" I mull on it a bit. It's not often people ask about me. If I'm doing my job right, they shouldn't. But we're just two women chasing away troubling thoughts, so I decide not to deflect. "Because I don't know how to do anything else."

"Well, eventually you're going to have to stop, Celeste. Can't keep up the pace forever."

"Why, Christine," I say with a smile, "are you trying to counsel me?"

Her smile mirrors mine, but doesn't quite reach her blue eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it." She paused and added, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm running?"

"Nope," I reply with mirth. "I'm off the chronometer."

"I'm going to tell you anyway. At first, I thought I was running to save Roger; have that life together he promised me years ago. When we found out he was…lost, there wasn't anything to go back for, so I stayed."

"I'm sorry, Christine," I say. I mean it; finding out her beloved put his consciousness in an android and seeing him commit suicide had to do a number on her.

"It's okay. I've just felt more at home here, even though I did something as foolish as falling for Spock."

I purse my lips slightly. "It's not so foolish, Christine." I lean against the ledge of the porthole. "There's all of the unknown at work here. Not knowing if Doctor Korby was alive, not knowing if the ship or crew would survive each dangerous mission. And you have constancy, reason, bravery in Commander Spock. He's a known. Could set your chrono to him, and there's a comfort in that. It's _logical_. Kind of."

Chapel scoffs. "'Commander Spock'. Do you know you're the only one on the ship that refers to him that way? It's like you're just visiting and not part of the crew."

I raise both of my eyebrows. "Oh. It's a force of habit. I come from a strict military mother. And it just seems to be appropriate now because he—he's so still, yet so, well, potent." I look out the porthole; I don't want to know what she thinks of that. It's not that I feel guilty; I don't want to make a mess of things. "How do you feel about him now?" I look her in the eye.

"Exhausted," she replies with an exaggerated sigh. I'm still fond of him, and I always will be. I thought that as time went on, and he spent more time among us, his human side will emerge, and he'd—"

"Tell you he loved you all along? How many of us humans do that; the ones not in a Jane Austen novel?" I shake my head. "You're such a romantic, Christine. Comes from growing up on a planet with one lonely, beautiful moon in the sky."

Chapel gives me a skeptical look. "Is that your scientific theory?"

I grin. "Why, yes it is."

"And because you Martians have two moons, you're twice as romantic?"

"Naah. It's too cold to be out looking at them for too long. Besides, they're ugly moons." I get her to laugh with me, and then I sober up a bit. "He doesn't mean to hurt you. I haven't been part of the crew very long, but from what I've seen, Spock can get on your last nerve, but he's no sadist. He'd never intentionally hurt you."

"I know. It doesn't make it hurt any less. Y'know, after that shameful business with the Platonians, he wouldn't even look me in the eye. It took a talk from Doctor McCoy for him to ask if I was okay." It's clear she still isn't, but Chapel never plays the victim well. It's interesting to watch her face change, see her eyes light up as she smiles. "I've had enough. And you might be on to something—Vulcan doesn't have a moon."

"Well, nobody's perfect." I grin, and she mirrors me.

"Do you think he'll find what he's looking for out here?"

"Spock's already found it in Captain Kirk. They'll never stop running, the two of them."

"Well, I'm going to stop running. When the _Enterprise_ finishes her mission, I'm going to go back to bio-research. I might even finish med school and become a doctor."

"'Doctor Chapel'. You know, that has a very nice ring to it." I yawn. "See? Cured what ails me. I should turn in." Something mischievous pops in my head, and I give in, unable to resist. "Before I do, I just have one little question that I've always wanted to ask you."

Chapel leans her head towards me. "I'm listening."

"You know I've reviewed the logs on this, but it's personal, so if you don't want to answer—"

"Will you ask already?"

"Okay. When Henoch took over Spock's body, and Sargon and Thalassa hid his consciousness inside you, did you excuse yourself and—"

"Celeste!" Chapel grinned. "I wouldn't tell you even if you used a Klingon mind-sifter."

Can't blame me for trying. "Fair enough, Christine. Good night."

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I suspect I have some hearing loss after my numerous high-pitched sonic showers. Then Spock comes in for his session, and my deafness is all for naught. Even the way he stands does something to me. He hasn't complained about being in my office after exchanging pleasantries, so that's an improvement. But he spends a moment in semi-contemplative silence studying my face. I give him his moment, until his gaze becomes too much for me. "Are you looking at me, Commander, or analyzing me?"

"It would be more appropriate for me to put that question to you, considering your duty."

"Fair enough." I place an elbow on my knee and rest my chin on my palm. "This isn't analysis so much as an observation. There is an elephant on the table, Commander. Shall we continue to ignore it?"

Spock is nonplussed. "As there is literally no elephant on the table, Doctor, I can only postulate that you are using a human colloquialism."

"Sorry, Spock. I'm only human."

"Indeed you are."

My eyes narrow a bit in response. Snarky bastard. "I'm not supposed to be talking about me, but I suspect you want to know if I can remain objective despite my obvious attraction to you."

The Vulcan leans back on the couch for the first time. His voice lowers. "I had considered it."

"I'm a scientist first, Commander. I will do nothing to jeopardize my duty to this crew. You are not my patient, you're a research subject." I cock my eyebrow to mirror him. "In fact, I'd prefer more _intensive_ behavioral research."

To his credit, Spock catches my meaning. "I do not understand why you would desire me. We are both aware of the attributes you possess. Any human male would gladly give you what I cannot."

"What, love? I shake my head and tut. "I'm not interested in being romanced, Mr. Spock."

"That is illogical."

"Oh, really? Well then, let's discuss the attributes _you_ possess. You are handsome, strong, extremely intelligent, sure of yourself, loyal, stoic, inscrutable and yes, a bit…exotic. You retain your masculinity without resorting to brutality. These qualities are noble and desirable in a human male partner. So it's quite logical for a human female to be drawn in by you."

"But illogical to expect emotional reciprocity, as I am incapable—"

"—'of expressing emotion'," I finish for him. "No need to state the obvious. It's your emotional unavailability that I find most alluring. Like I said, I'm not interested in being wooed. I'm not looking to pick out china patterns with you."

"It is curious that you would relate selecting tableware with relationships."

I had to laugh at that. "It's another colloquial phrase." I give him a slight smile before I get serious again. "I have no wish to elicit any strong emotional responses from you. Physiological responses, definitely. But emotional ones would be counterproductive and quite possibly dangerous." I pause and sit back in my chair. "Though I've been told your smile is one of the galaxy's most glorious to behold, and an there's an as-yet unconfirmed rumor about a dimple on your left cheek. Perhaps because it's rare."

"Rarer still is a logical human female. You are proving to be less of an exception."

"Oh, how clever, Mr. Spock," I reply. "I'm no hothouse flower; I won't wilt under the heat of your bon mots." I lean forward, placing my hand on the table between us. "Be advised, I'm not like any woman you've ever met."

Spock leans forward in kind. "I am very aware of that, Ms. Parker." He gives me a look that only slightly betrays his poker face. It's subtle. Subtlety is an art for Vulcans; subtext a shibboleth.

"Then I leave the initiative to you. Your own volition, not a biological imperative." I pick up my tricorder. "I'd like to spend the rest of the session measuring those beautiful brainwaves. I need a baseline to work with."


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_**_ If you were wondering when the smut starts, it's here. Enjoy!  
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Later on, I'm in my quarters, my ears ringing from my recent high-pitched sonic shower. I'm in my robe, sitting on my heels next to my bed, in _seiza_, facing the scroll on the bulkhead away from the door. The Deltan-made device I got on Risa on post-divorce shore leave is not going to do the trick tonight, so I meditate, clear my mind of the day's troubles. The scroll says _mushin_ in Chinese characters. _No mind_, my aspiration: to have such a mental meta-presence that I need not think or feel to be. To banish the reports, the streams of people's miseries, the chat with Spock and how he looked at me…. My senses are still heightened since then and I notice the soft brush of my unpinned hair on the nape of my neck, my cheeks, my shoulders.

I'm getting myself worked up again, so I sigh and start from the beginning. _Breathe. Just focus on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exha—_

I hear the door. I assume it's Chapel coming to drop off that report she mentioned at lunch or Lieutenant Uhura inviting me to the card game in the rec room. They and maybe Lieutenant Sulu are the only ones comfortable enough with me to visit my quarters. Not that I'm not grateful for their time, but I'm not in the mood now and I don't bother to mask my irritation when I say, "Come."

I'm still facing away from my visitor on my knees, but my head whips around at the familiar velvety baritone. "I apologize if I have come at an inconvenient interval."

I raise my left hand beside my head in a halting motion. "Anytime's convenient for you." I rise to my feet and turn to face Spock. My eyes begin a slow hike down his long, lean body, and back up to his mouth. To hell with meditation for now. "I must say, Commander, this is a most pleasant surprise."

Spock nods slightly, bringing his hands from around his back to his sides. "I would give you my decision."

"You could have waited until our next session to tell me," I reply, wondering if I could really tolerate another three weeks.

"I chose not to wait."

"I see." I lower my gaze a bit and hold my breath for a beat before resuming. "And?"

"It is illogical not to feed when hungry, or not to drink when thirsty." He closes the space between us with one step. "This 'craving' of yours…is mutual." His voice lowers as he looks at my mouth. "I agree to this 'research' by my own volition." He raises his hand to my face, warm fingers on my cheek, thumb brushing my bottom lip. "My own volition," he repeats.

Spock's touch stirs me. I know Vulcans are incredibly haptic, so I stroke his fingers lightly with the pads of my fingertips and watch him shudder as he watches me, watches my response. I bring his thumb into my mouth and trace the outline of it with my tongue. His flesh has a faint coppery taste. He closes those piercing brown eyes and hitches his breath. It's a brief moment before he reopens them, and they're full of _want_. I get the feeling I could make him come just from sucking his fingers, and that knowledge only serves to make me wet.

Spock circles my waist with his free hand and pulls me to him, and I feel my hard nipples press against his chest. He's generating heat through his uniform, which is to be expected from a being with a higher core temperature than mine, but he doesn't perspire.

I let his thumb slip out of my mouth and use my index finger to trace his jawline, his cheekbone, his eyebrow, the shell of his pointed ear. "Tell me, what do you see when you look at me with those Vulcan eyes?"

His response is low as he cradles my face with his hands. "A work of art. And I do appreciate art, Celeste." His satiny lips are already on mine, and his press is gentle but oh so urgent. I yield to him, open my mouth, allow his tongue to slide against mine, to explore me. I revel in that tinge of copper while sliding my hands around his neck. He runs his spidery fingers through my hair, down the nape of my neck, down my spine. I don't even notice he's freed the belt of my robe from its knot because he gives so much in his kiss, and dear gods _his mouth_! His hands slide up my arms and across my shoulders to peel back my robe. I drop my hands to let the silk drop to the floor.

There's a tortuous moment where Spock breaks the kiss. My lips are cooled, and I shiver a bit from it. I step out of his grasp and open my eyes to see him dragging his gaze up my body, his eyes darkening. I curl my lips. _Look. At what I'm doing. To Mr. Spock_. "Do you approve?"

The Vulcan responds with a slow nod. "Yes, Celeste," he says softly, and the sound of Spock saying my name is a current going from brain to clitoris. He approaches me again and scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bed. Again he kisses me, availing himself of my neck, making exquisite use of his teeth. He envelops me, his slim but powerful arms circling my bare torso, his erection straining and pressing at my thigh. I feel a slight tremble, but I'm not sure if that's me or him. Not that it matters. I pull his shirt and undershirt over his head and wonder what it's going to take to mess up that perfect black hair.

Spock winces when my fingers touch his lean, chiseled chest. Though he tends to touch others quite a bit, he's not yet accustomed to that first moment of cooler human hands on rarely exposed skin. He spreads my hands out to flank my head and covers them with his own, fingertips on fingertips, palm on palm. He stays there, searching my eyes for response, and I realize he's not just warming my hands, he's _kissing_ me. It's flattering—and almost too intimate for me. I turn away from his gaze and nuzzle the back of his hand with my cheek. He senses my slight apprehension, and leans a bit on one side while he frees a hand to drag his index and middle fingers along my jawline in a gentle, calming motion.

"It's okay, Spock." I feel I have to say it. I lock eyes with him, conveying my need, my ache for him. I brush his fingertips with my bottom lip before taking them into my mouth, moving them slowly in and out while my hips move against him. His eyebrows almost touch his hairline, his eyes shut, and he bites his bottom lip. Oh, what it does to me to see this logical Vulcan so rapt. He could crush me with his strength, but I'm doing this to him. I **own** this moment. I moan against his fingers, and his breath hitches. He has to pull them out or he might lose control, and I apply a bit of suction as he does.

When Spock reopens his eyes the expression is almost feral before he regains his self-control. He slides his hand behind my head and I bring my chin up towards the ceiling. His mouth seems to brand the space behind my ear, my earlobe, the hollow of my neck, my collarbone. I stroke his shiny hair, his ears as he takes a neglected nipple into his mouth, worrying at it with the flat of his tongue until it's so hard it hurts. I'm panting from eddies of pleasure curling deep inside me. There's no way I could hold back, and Spock knows it. He's counting on it. He moves to my other nipple and replaces his mouth with his index and middle fingers—pinching and tugging one while sucking the other. His free hand slides down my belly; his fingers make a circular pattern on my inner thigh before brushing against my mound.

I sigh, and my mouth remains open. I need to touch him now, taste the flesh of his mouth, his eyelid, his ears, his throat. My fingertips slide between the dark hairs on his chest, my nails lightly scrape his nipples, his sides. Where I'm disconcerted at the emptiness of his chest, I'm startled at the incessant staccato at the side of his ribcage. I'm reminded of how he is inhuman, not like any man I've ever been with. I hear him sigh as I lean forward and unzip his fly, and I smirk. I'm reminded of how even extraterrestrials share some common ground.

Spock watches my expression change from smugness to ecstasy as he slips those nimble, long fingers deep inside me. I'd swear _he's_ smirking, but I'm far too busy trying not to come too soon. I hear his breath deepen as he moves his fingers out halfway. I remember that Spock's lovely fingers are also very sensitive.

His brown eyes scintillate. "Please refrain from suppressing any passionate outbursts. You are human. You are allowed." He's still able to make coherent sentences while he's circling my turgid clit with his thumb; I am not. I'm exhaling in stutters. I accept this is going to be the closest Spock's ever going to get to talking dirty. Which would be fine if he didn't add, "Your vaginal secretion level is exceptionally high."

I stifle a laugh. "Yes, Spock, I'm very wet. Good job."

The Vulcan rewards my cheekiness by plunging his fingers deeper. My moan is throaty, full-bodied. "Fascinating," he murmurs.

"No," I reply and slide my hands down his pants and give his cock a firm grip while squeezing my Kegels around his fingers. Even biting his lip does not prevent Spock from letting out a pleasurable sound. "_This_ is." My mouth brushes against his. I'm getting impatient. "Clothes. Off. Now." This means the we won't have our hands and mouths all over each other, so Spock strives to make the intermission as brief as possible.

I need a moment to take in the fact that _Mr. Spock is in my bed. Naked. And aroused. _ I've been thinking about this for months and my brain is about to short out over it. I shift as he lies on his back because I have to see him clearly. He's glorious to behold. Long. Lean. Toned. Every inch of him perfectly maintained; it's only logical. I look down and see the leafy green hue deepening as his blood stiffens his cock. There's only one word for it, really. My lips spread into a smile as I say, "Fascinating." Spock narrows his eyes and I respond with, "I couldn't resist."

I take advantage of his supine position and straddle him. I begin to map out his body with my mouth while his hands follow my curves. His skin is hot but not sweaty. I like the smooth texture of it, that faint coppery taste. Once I'm past his navel Spock cards through the strands of my hair. I give him one last look, which he returns with a raised eyebrow.

I lower my head and breathe on the head of Spock's cock, watching him close his eyes and lean his head back into my pillows. I take him into my mouth as much as I can without gagging and he strokes my hair. Up to this point, the Vulcan's touch has been gentle, like he's trying to commit how I feel to memory. But his grip on my hair gets firmer as I go up and down with lips, tongue, fingers, and good ol' suction.

When I flick my tongue against the underside of his head, he grabs and pulls my mouth off him by my hair in a single jerk. He's panting, heaving his chest.

"Ow! _Ow!_" I reach back and squeeze his tightly clenched hand. "Easy, Spock. You can do whatever you want, but don't make me bald."

Spock releases my hair and takes a moment to regulate his breathing. He opens his eyes and there's a slight apologetic look on his face. I scrunch my mouth to one side, feeling a bit sorry for—what? I slide my fingers against his and he responds in kind. "I didn't know that fellatio is not pleasant for you. I'm sorry."

Spock lifts my chin so that my eyes meet his. "Quite the contrary. It is too pleasant." He kisses me and encircles me with his arms, his heat, guiding me on my back. "Allow me to reciprocate."

I close my eyes and lie back, enjoying the warm trail of his fingers and mouth on my neck, breasts and torso. Warmer palms spread me before I feel gentle nips on my inner thighs. "So lovely," he says in that soothing baritone, and I don't have much time to appreciate it because his lips are pressed against my clitoris. I'm tingling, twitching as he's lapping, laving, sucking, covering every wet inch. His pace is languorous but never tedious; his method meticulous but never arduous. I cup him by the back of his head, half-hoping to muss his hair. I feel pressure and pleasure swirling, intertwining, building. He slips his fingers inside me, presses his fingers against that bundle of nerves while licking my clit. I lose use of language as euphoria takes me, and I cry out with each orgasmic pulse.

As I press myself deep into my mattress, my mind checks in with my fingers and toes; I can feel them, air filling my lungs, the soft fabric of my blanket, the sheen of sweat covering me, my tongue against the roof of my mouth, Spock's fingers still inside me. His head is pressed against my thigh as he takes in deep breaths. Those sensitive fingers. He pulls them out and sucks them clean, and the sight of it is so deliciously obscene I have to pull him up and kiss him, taste myself on his lips and tongue. I can't wait. "Take me, Spock," I implore. "Take me _now_."

Spock obliges me, sinking into me. He grits his teeth as we both get acclimated to each other. He's hot and tingling and full to me; I'm cool and slick and sopping wet to him. I like being surrounded by his heat. I arch my back to press into him and _squeeze_. Spock shivers and pulls out halfway before plunging back in. His thrusts are unhurried, steady, deliberate. Our mouths and hands are everywhere; his taste, his movements are commingled with mine. I'm lost, intoxicated. I undulate my hips and milk him with my Kegels. "Celeste," Spock says, tethering me with my name. He claims my mouth tenderly while he covers my palms and interlaces his fingers with mine, causing a white-hot sensation to spread and spread through me and _stay_ and I, I—

"This feels so…." I remember to whom I'm speaking and trail off.

Spock doesn't miss a thrust on it. His voice is husky when he replies, "Yes, it does."

It's like he opened floodgates with his admission, and my orgasm's almost painful given the intensity. My gasps are like sobs, and Spock keeps me from crashing down by stroking my temple.

Spock resumes his slow pace, coaxing climaxes from me again and again. I've lost count when he buries his face where my neck meets my shoulder and clenches my hands. His pace does not change. He lets out a sound that's a cross between a sigh and a moan before going still and he's trembling. Beautiful.

I feel his weight on me. Heavy, but not crushing. I don't dare move. Long moments pass as I lay there, completely spent. Spock regains his composure, and his fingertips graze my lips. His thumb brushes my cheek, which we both notice is wet. He snaps his head up and he seems slightly puzzled. "You are crying," he says matter-of-factly. "I meant no harm."

I smile to show my current disposition. "It's another physiological response, Spock. It'll pass."

"There is no emotion behind your tears?"

"Other than complete and utter relief?" I shake my head. "No." As I exhale I add, "Oh. My. Gods."

"Deities have nothing to do with it," Spock says sternly.

"I've already worshipped you, Mr. Spock. Don't get greedy." I feel my thigh cramp, then my pelvic joints protest as I unwrap my legs from him. "Oooh. I'm out of practice."

"On the contrary. I must say your technique is—"

I place two fingers over Spock's incredible mouth to quiet him. "It's bad form to conduct a post-coital after action review. If you're not going to get religious, just say it was good for you too."

I watch him kiss my fingertips before catching them between his teeth. The corners of his mouth go upward before he closes on my fingers and sucks. I think he's plotting to kill me with cognitive dissonance because that's so erotic it makes no goddamned sense, and it's _Spock_. I pull my fingers out before the assassin does his work.

Spock raises his eyebrow and continues the subject. "Such a statement would be highly inaccurate." He lifts up and I groan as he pulls out of me. He lies on his side while I lie on my side facing him, back against the bulkhead. I wonder how his hair stays neat throughout the whole encounter.

My hand brushes past my thighs and as I bring it up to rest on it, I notice something's…off. I look down at him before looking back up at his face. I narrow my eyes. "Spock, did you—?"

"Yes," he replies. "Please believe me; it was extremely gratifying, to say the least."

I can't help but be bewildered because there's no physical evidence. "But you didn't—"

"Vulcan males do not have to ejaculate to experience an ecstatic release." Spock's not reading my mind; he's reading my expression.

I can only muster a "That's interesting." Not that it isn't—the oxytocin and prolactin flooding my system is making me a bit drowsy.

Spock tucks an errand strand of hair behind my ear. "Vulcan males also do not have an involuntary refractory period."

I roll my eyes. "Show-off."

Spock lets the comment pass, a rare moment for the consummate snarker. "Some humans have practiced _coitus reservatus_ as part of religious rituals for thousands of years."

"Ah. Like Tantric _maithuna_. Secularly, it's been called karezza." I'm drawing back on my graduate studies. I did a thesis on comparative analysis of humanoid sexualities, but I had scant information on Vulcans at the time. Well, it's never too late. "I think that's what I'll call it—karezza. I'm sure there's a word for it in Vulcan, but you don't talk about it. Or I can't pronounce it."

"Yes. In both cases." I see a universe in Spock's eyes, which would be a feast for hopeful nurses, spore-deluded settlers, Stratans, Sarpedian exiles, and even Romulan commanders. But not me. I look over him at the door and murmur, "Off you go, Spock." I sigh. "I'm not the kind of girl that would make _plomeek _soup for you."

"Understood," he replies softly while he sits up and takes leave of my bed. It feels a little colder, so I slide under my covers and watch him get dressed. Gods, he's magnificent. And meticulous as he puts his clothes back on. Nothing out of place, not a single wrinkle, crease, or flaw. Except he's going to be walking along decks back to his quarters smelling like me. He looks over his shoulder because he can sense me watching, and I smile without showing my teeth. He comes back and sits on the side of the bed to caress my face, kiss my forehead. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking _you_. The pleasure's mine," I reply.

"And mine." Spock gets up, poker face on, and walks toward the door.

"Good night, Commander," I say before he exits.

"Good night, Doctor."


	4. Chapter 4

"Something on your mind?"

I stop in the middle of my weekly status report to look at my boss. "What makes you say that?"

"You're making me dizzy with your pacing," Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy replies, his expression easy with a touch of concern. "It's also your third cup of coffee. If you have another cup, I'm going to restrict your diet."

"Oh." I become mindful of my slightly agitated state and sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk. It's been three weeks, and I've been in such a fog I'm losing focus. "Sorry, Doctor. I wasn't aware."

"It's fine. I know how much of a caseload you have, and the reports. And it's about time you called me Leonard."

I nod. McCoy is a gentleman first, a doctor second, and a Starfleet officer only when needed. "Alright, Leonard." It's only fair. He's been calling me by my first name since I came on board. I remember the first time we met, in the transporter room. Both Commander Scott and I found it a bit disconcerting. 'It's his way, lass,' the engineer told me, and I let it go. This crew lends itself to the familiar touch, at least at the top.

"Y'know, Celeste, I'm trained in psychology too. I'd be glad to lend my ear if you want to talk." He grins, and it's warm, sincere.

I shake my head slightly. It's never a good idea to tell one's superior that one had sex with one of his best friends. "Thanks, but it's nothing, really. Nothing that will affect my work." That's true—I'm still highly functional, just a bit…dulled. Until today. Today is Spock's session, and I'm feeling antsy. And a little miffed. If he enjoyed the experience, why didn't he come back?

McCoy's pretty blue eyes twinkle. "I'm sure it isn't. Still, even with over 400 people on this ship, you can get kinda restless, lonely, even."

"Indeed." Of the trio the id—McCoy—has put me most at ease. Then again, I see him more often and we both are in the same branch. I do what I do best—deflect. "Do _you_ get lonely, Leonard?" I take another quaff from my cup. "I mean, is it possible when you can always count on Captain Kirk and Commander Spock?"

"I'll tell you something. We have each other—Jim, Spock, and I—but we each carry a burden. The captain—

"'The man on top walks a lonely street'?"

"That's never been more true than with Jim Kirk. Oh, he'll never tell you, but for all the devotion he gives to the _Enterprise_, he'll never truly get it back from her." He leans back in his chair. "And Mr. Spock? His two halves constantly at war with each other, in a place where no one can possibly understand him? How isolated he must fe—" He swallows, and he's not quite sure how to end the sentence, so he leaves it.

"Leonard, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

McCoy's brows furrow a bit. "I'm _not_ uncomfortable. It's just a little tough to talk about Spock and feelings without…well, feeling." I nod. He's not alone. "Celeste, you spend time trying to get into that Vulcan's head. What's your assessment?"

I shrug. "You know him better than I ever will. I'm forced to work hard to overcome his reticence during our sessions. It's quite a chore."

"I'm sure it's not you, my dear. Spock's complicated even by Vulcan standards." He crosses his bare arms against his medical tunic. "Now, don't avoid the question. I'd like to know what you think about him." It's a gentle press.

I purse my lips a bit. "He seems rather well-adjusted for someone that will never truly fit in. Too human to be Vulcan, and we humans either find him a source of frustration or ridicule—and he chose us. He's a fine officer and for a privileged few, a dear friend. I admit that as a psychologist, I'm impressed."

"And as a woman?"

I give McCoy a slight curl of the lips before speaking, but I'm cut off from the sound of the door being open behind me.

McCoy looks up, and his eyes darken slightly. "Well, speak of the devil."

I raise both my eyebrows at McCoy and turn my chair to face the Vulcan. He looks nonplussed, which is to be expected. "For someone who dislikes being poked, prodded, and examined, Commander, you tend to spend an awful lot of time in sickbay."

McCoy's eyes dart from mine to Spock's, and he smirks a bit. I can almost hear him say 'atta girl'.

"Only because the two of you have failed to find a more suitable research subject in terms of physical or intellectual prowess," Spock quips.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?" McCoy asks as I finish my coffee. I know when I'm beaten.

"Nothing as usual, Doctor McCoy." Spock's eyes shift to mine, and he gives nothing away. "Doctor Parker, our session is today."

I furrow my brow. "Commander, you're thirty minutes early—"

"Thirty-two minutes and three seconds early, to be exact."

I glance over at McCoy, who is sharing my need to fight an eye roll.

"I thought we could use this session to discuss differences in the synaptic network patterns of the human and Vulcan minds. The extra time is for your benefit, as I am sure I will have to explain some concepts repeatedly."

I _do_ roll my eyes at the Vulcan's dig. I'm thinking he's serious about the subject at hand. I spent our second session being subjected to the vast improvements to the Martian verteron array, courtesy of the Zee-Magnees Prize-winning team of mathematicians, which included my father. I see it as an attempt to impress me and a deflection taking the focus off him. I wonder if he'd address the real issue at all if left unfacilitated. I stand up and grab my PADD and coffee mug. "Sounds fascinating," I reply drily. "Let's not wait another minute, Commander." I look back with a mock pained expression. "Duty calls, Doctor McCoy."

"I'm sorry it does." McCoy narrows his eyes a bit at the Vulcan. "Try not to bore her to death, Spock."

I stand just outside of the sickbay doors so I can hear Spock retort, "I assumed even you are aware of the medical impossibility of 'boring one to death', Doctor, much as you have attempted to do so. I see I am in error." I smile to myself as I start to walk. Their banter is entertaining, and I wonder if Spock will ever admit to getting off on getting under McCoy's skin. My expression changes as I realise Spock may have an ulterior motive for seeing me early and I'm not sure what it is. I haven't seen him in just under a month, which is easy in a ship this large—he's on the bridge, I'm around the corner from sickbay. I'm about one day from showing up at the door of his quarters begging. Maybe he beat me to it. I'm cautious. Human males I have figured out. Vulcan males suppressing their human half? Not so much.

I just put my PADD and mug on the table when Spock enters. He stands arms akimbo, and his gaze is intense. So's mine. We're not going to spend much time talking about synapses. "Commander," I say with an edge.

"Doctor." It's our routine, this salutation of rank and titles. So is the tension-enhancing staring contest. I lose every time.

This time I concede to put the In Session sign outside the door and lock it. I have to walk past him to do that; I walk past him again on the way back to my chair, and he reaches for and takes my wrist. The warmth of his touch surges through me. It's here where I realise I can hate Spock for having this kind of power over me and not exercising it.

"When I saw you in sickbay, I considered you ill. I am delighted you are not."

My mouth gapes open. I think about what he's implying and take refuge in aloofness. "Thanks for your concern. I know that to you, the role of every crewmember is essential to the smooth operation of this ship." I pull at my wrist, but Spock doesn't release his hold.

"Yes, Doctor. In addition, you did not…." He trails off.

"Go on. Say I didn't come chasing after you like a lovesick fool."

He finally releases my wrist, and I hold my hand out to the couch. He continues. "I considered you would wish to continue our experience. You do not have nearly enough empirical data--and Vulcans do not engage in 'one night stands'." He sits down, and I take my place beside him on the couch. Formality can be foregone in this moment. "Have you not…had cravings since then?"

I laugh sarcastically. "'Cravings'?" My voice drops. "Spock, I want you to rip my clothes off and bounce me off every surface in this office with the force matching the gravitational pull of a supermassive black hole. It's safe to say I. Have. Cravings." McCoy's right; I should lay off the coffee.

There's that eyebrow again. "Your very strong sexual drive makes you quite barbaric."

"Yeah, well, you're quite the catalyst for that," I retort.

"As well as emotional." Dammit, he's roping me in!

It seems we're both a bit petulant. Best I let it go. "Spock, I hate to prove your point." I sigh. "But we both failed to be clear about what we want. Like you, I don't wish to be ruled by my desires, so I didn't seek you out. But it has been a very long three weeks—"

"Three weeks, ten hours, and—"

"That'll do, Vulcan. That'll do." I reach out and place my hand on his. "I can't touch your face and read your mind. You're going to have to use that lovely voice of yours and tell me what you want."

"Words hold such meaning to humans," Spock replies, bringing his hand slowly up the side of my arm.

"I suspect the same is true for Vulcans. You're a loquacious lot when you want to be." I smirk. "Can't get you to shut up half the time."

Spock traces my jawline before placing my chin between thumb and forefinger. "However, in some cases it is preferable to show rather than tell." He kisses me, dragging me under his current of heated, insistent longing.

About an hour and fifteen minutes later, I'm lying naked on my belly on the couch, done in and panting. Spock's laying atop me, also nude, his limbs tangled with mine, his lips grazing the back of my neck and shoulders. His movements are languorous, just as they were moments before when he took me from behind. Not exactly bounced off every surface, and not quite supermassive black hole, but dear _gods_ I can get used to this. I bring Spock's fingers, interlocked with mine, to my lips and lick myself off the pads of his fingers. I'm rewarded by an audible inhale, and my flesh getting caught between Spock's teeth. Nice. I put his index finger in my mouth and he gives me another firm bite, then soothes the area with the flat of his tongue.

"I would prefer you let your hair down," he says. "I find this alteration to your appearance more alluring."

I scoff. "What if I refuse, _Commander_?" My tone's playful, mocking.

"You cannot refuse, _Doctor_." Spock nips me just behind my left earlobe and sucks. He repeats the process on the nape of my neck. "You now have a logical purpose for it."

I reach back and give his earlobe a firm tug. "You cunning, pointed-ear devil," I purr as I arch my back. "Well, they say change is good. Besides, my little 'presents' will be gone in, say, three weeks."

Spock disentangles from me and sits up, allowing me to do the same. "I do not wish to be bereft of you for that length of time." He reaches for his trousers and boots.

I don my undergarments, hose, and blue briefs before standing up to finish dressing. "Tomorrow night, then? It's Femme Fizzbin Night in Rec Room Three tonight. I'm dealing."

"'Fizzbin'? That is an imaginary game the Captain made up as a diversion to confuse our Iotian captors." Spock dons his undershirt and uniform shirt.

"Actually it's modified five or seven-card stud—depending on the day of week it is—renamed in his honor. He thinks it's a 'man's game', but we beg to differ. Ladies' choice—queens are wild."

Spock offers to zip my uniform up the rest of the way, and I accept. "It should make for a highly illogical game."

"I sure hope so." I turn to sit back down and pull on my boots and notice the wet spot on my microfiber couch. There's also a spot on the arm where I bit in and muffled screaming his name. Lieutenant Kyle's appointment is right after this. This makes a good argument against having it off where one works. I sink my face into my palm. "Oh, Spock. We should've done it on the floor." The argument's not without loopholes. I slip my boots on from a standing position and go to the desk I use to write reports. "The vent," I tell him while I remove the bottle of fabric refresher and a large, beige, folded dustcover from the bottom drawer. Maintenance left it behind when they set the room up. "I'm gonna need a new couch. Preferably leather."

"I am sure your explanation to the quartermaster will be interesting," he says as he's circulating the air in the office.

It doesn't take long for me to spray and cover the couch. "Oh, and we have about eight minutes to keep you somewhat honest."

That gives him pause. "Explain."

"Synaptic nerve patterns, Mr. Spock. Start talking or accept the fact you lied to Doctor McCoy."

"Doctor Parker, Vulcans do not lie." There's a tone of righteous indignation in his voice.

"Umm-hmm." I find this delicious. "Seven minutes, thirty seconds."

Spock smoothes his uniform shirt as I brush my hair. "Vulcan synaptic patterns allow for an accelerated and more varied rate of transmission than that of a human. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

"Weak. Very weak." I place the brush back in the desk and face him. "If we didn't have a pressing issue, would you have actually spent an hour and a half discussing this?"

Spock doesn't miss a beat. "Yes."

I roll my eyes. I should know better. "Of course. There's very little testing on that, though. Vulcans tend to be secretive about their minds. Present company excluded, more or less."

"We do not think every human would understand." Spock raises his hand, extending his index and middle fingers. "But I have observed that there are a few that might understand."

I purse my lips and press my fingers against his, surprised at the bit of warmth. It's a Vulcan affectation, their equivalent of a kiss. "You're not hoping I inherited my dad's talent with mathematics, are you?" I drop my hand and place it behind my back. "I'm afraid I'm just average. Cards and pool, on the other hand—"

"I do not 'hope', Celeste. Although it is a logical assumption that I would relate well with your father, I believe you possess more…admirable traits."

I bow my head slightly. "Thank you."

"I would see you in my quarters tomorrow at 2230."

"If it pleases you." It's force of habit to say it, and I can't take it back, so I let it stand.

His response is simple, yet somewhat unexpected. "It does."

"Good." I inch my face closer to his, and he's willing to meet me halfway. "Oh, and one other thing, Spock."

"Yes?" He looks down at my mouth in anticipation of the kiss.

It doesn't come. "No more sex in my office." I smile at the chime. "Our time's up."


	5. Chapter 5

"Alright, ladies, ante up." I smile as I look around the table at the players.

Nurse Chapel tosses her chips in first. She's the one that got me into this game. She's also the one who told me to stop telling the odds out loud. Lieutenant Uhura's next, humming as she puts in. Yeoman Karen Phillips beams as she puts in her chips. She's still working on the concept of a "poker face," but she has such a sunny disposition. Good thing we're not playing for anything of value. Lieutenant Charlene Masters from Engineering just shakes her head as she puts in. She's the rightmost person, and it's Tuesday, so she's getting seven cards. "What's new on the bridge?" I ask Uhura. I'm expected to maintain conversations as well.

"Not much," the communications officer replies, picking up her five cards. "We're on our way to Benecia, not a Klingon or Romulan in sight. No new planets or life forms. Just crew drills and frequency reports."

"I hear you," Masters pipes in. "I thought I was going to scream if I heard Scotty talk about his 'bairns' one more time today."

Phillips doesn't seem as exasperated when she complains about the lack of excitement. "Yeah. It seems like the reports for command review are going to short out my PADD. And with the winter holidays coming up?"

I nod. "My case load's already feeling the strain. People get sad and lonely around this time of year. And it's crew evaluation time, which means-" Chapel shakes her glass on cue, making the ice rattle. "Smiley, you're slipping," I say to Phillips. "You're supposed to keep the synthehol flowing."

"Is this because I have the lowest rank?"

"No," Chapel responds, "It's because you're closest to the replicators."

Everyone places their cards face down on the table while Phillips gets another bottle. "Charlene, what do you have to do to convince Scotty to let us have some of his scotch?" I can't help but grin at what Chapel said.

Masters has a twinkle in her dark brown eye; that coupled with her delicate features and her short Afro made her look like a pixie. "I suppose the same thing you have to do to get a hold of Doctor McCoy's Saurian brandy, Christine, which is why we're sitting here drinking synthehol."

The table erupts with laughter. Uhura slides two cards to me and I ask, "Are you going to sing something for the Christmas party, Nyota?" I draw two to replace hers. It's not the first time I wonder to myself how the men (or women, for that matter) on the bridge are able to think straight with her there.

"Oh, yes. I can get Mr. Spock to accompany me on his lyre."

"You think you could get him to put on a Christmas hat? He'd look like a giant, taciturn elf," I remark drily.

Masters jumps in. "And stuff the captain in a Santa suit—"

"And McCoy as Scrooge? 'I'm a doctor, not a miser.'"

More laughter. "You literally let your hair down," Uhura says to me after my impression.

"I did it after Christine became a brunette again. Follow the leader," I reply, winking at Chapel.

"I like it, Celeste. We were worried you didn't have a sense of humor. You gotta have one with this crew."

"You were worried about me? I'm flattered."

"Yeah. You spend a lot of time to yourself or at work. I had to threaten to drag you out to play with us. What are you thinking about right now?" Chapel's conversational skills are laser-guided.

"Crew evaluations," I lie. I'm replaying my earlier office tryst. I'm going to have to literally sit on my hands to keep them off Spock when I advise him during the process.

"See? At the rate you're going, you're gonna end up crazy."

"What a objective term, Charlene," I chide.

"Well, we could do without another insane psychologist. This ship goes though women of your profession faster than they do yeomen." Phillips' smile drops and her green eyes widen at the engineer's statement until Masters reassures her with, "Look, Karen, the captain hasn't asked you to join his away team, so you should be fine. Just make sure he keeps forgetting your name."

"She's got a point. Captain Kirk's bad with yeomen's names. Be glad you're not a security officer. How many, Smiley?" Phillips asks for three, and I comply, shaking my head. She's bleeding chips.

Uhura adds, "What do you like to do when you're not working and playing cards with us?"

"Well, I meditate, mostly, and practice aikido when I have the time and a partner. Both are in short supply these days. Haven't found a partner for _go_, either." I wisely neglect to add my newest pastime.

Masters adds, "Any dates yet?"

I dodge by asking her how many cards she wants. She decides to hold and I look at Chapel. "What do you want to do, Christine?"

Chapel throws in some chips. "I call." She adds with mock pity, "Celeste doesn't have the time. Besides, she has two men in her life-Leonard and Spock."

"Can't argue with that statement. Their comic styling is not to be missed." I shrug. "I do earn my pay between the two of them."

Chapel's blue eyes seem to bore through me. "How's your research going with Spock?" She's on a fishing expedition.

I don't miss a beat. "As well as can be expected, but it's a long and sometimes vigorous process getting what I need. The first officer is...demanding." My tone is matter-of-fact, and I'm not lying. Well, much. I check other people's faces as I take another gulp of water. I am dismissive when I continue. "All of you have served longer with the Vulcan; you know him better than I do."

Uhura puts her cards down, lowers her lovely brown eyes. "I fold."

"Very well, Nyota," I say with a slight smile. There's some history there, but I give her a pass and turn to the redhead. "All right, Smiley, it's on you."

"Raise." She throws in some chips. "We may have served with Spock longer, but you spend the most time alone with him."

I shrug. "Once every three weeks is-"

"Believe me, where Spock and female crewmembers are concerned, that is a lot of time. What does he talk about, other than logic and astounding mathematical calculations?"

I shake my head. "There's no way I'm telling you that. Doctor-patient privilege. End of. Charlene?"

Masters goes all-in. "You're gonna have to pay to see 'em."

"Tired?" I don't think she has a strong hand, even with the extra card.

"What I really want to know about is your ex-husband; what kind of a man would be stupid enough to leave you?"

"I'll tell you what-win this round, Charlene, and I'll tell you about him. If you don't, we'll talk about something other than men-" I look back at Chapel- "and yes, that includes our resident Vulcan, fascinating though he may be."

Chapel, Phillips, and Masters share a look before the nurse and the yeoman put their cards down and simultaneously say, "Fold." Masters lays down her cards and collects her pot looking every inch the cat that ate the cream.

My brows furrow upon looking at the cards. "You raised on a half-shronk." I roll my eyes. "The odds of you winning on that are-"

"You promised never to give us the odds," Uhura says. She can't help but laugh. "And it looks like you have another promise to keep."

"Anything for the best of Starfleet," I reply. I know I've been set up. "Especially you, darling Nyota. Go ahead and ask."

"Name, occupation, location, personality-"

"-How long it lasted-"

"-Who broke it off, and why."

I exhale deeply whilst collecting the cards. This is something I rarely talk about, but I might as well keep my word with the ladies. "His name's Felix, he's from Copernicus City, he still lives in Utopia Colony, works for the Martian colonial delegate to the Federation, and he's one passionate, emotive ginger." I grimace. "No offence, Smiley."

"None taken."

"Felix and I married when we were both at university. We thought nothing could stop us from changing the face of the universe for the better. Turns out that sense of invincibility was what we loved more than each other. I...couldn't cope with his mourning the loss of that. He couldn't gain control. And he didn't know how I could be so cold and unfeeling. Left us both bitter. So I thought it made sense to end it after eight years. I was commissioned in Starfleet not long after that."

I hear nothing but me shuffling the deck and know I don't need to look up to see the unanswered question in their eyes. "You expected to hear me say monstrous things about my ex-husband?"

"No," Uhura answers. "We expected you to be less analytical about it. We didn't expect you to sound like Spock."

For the first time tonight, I'm at a loss for words. I freeze as I take a moment to swallow down that old pain. "That's not fair," I say in a barely audible tone. You quickly get myself back in order to add, "I've had plenty of time and distance to process it." I hand her the deck. "It's your turn to cut."

"So that's it? No anger or regret, no wishing you could go back and fix it?"

"No. I don't see the log-uh, _point_ of having those feelings."

I go for the deck, but Chapel places a hand on my arm so I can look at her. "What Nyota's not saying, Celeste, is that we like Doctor Parker, but we'd love to see more of Celeste the woman-the _human_ woman."

"I assure you, Christine, I'm all too human. And very much a woman." I start dealing and my stomach grumbles. I laugh it off. "A woman who wants to play cards and is in dire need of a sandwich."


	6. Chapter 6

I exhale deeply as I stand outside Spock's door. After my last session, I had to record my analysis, which gives me just enough time to run a brush through my hair and shower. I still have data tapes in my hand as I wait for the computer to signal my presence to the occupant.

"Doctor-"

I damn near jump out of my skin at the voice behind me. I know that voice, hear it often on the intercom speakers other than Lieutenant Uhura's. I turn around and address the, man-no, the living legend-behind the voice. "Captain."

"I'm sorry if I startled you." James T. Kirk gives me an easy grin as he studies my expression. He's cautious, astute. "I just noticed you were going into Mr. Spock's quarters." See? Cautious. Astute.

"Oh. Commander Spock requested my presence, sir." I hold up and waggle the data tapes. "He wants to review my calculations for sleep cycle recommendations, which is up for review. He's checking my figures, sir." I couldn't resist that last bit, but I take care to couch it in a cool, professional tone.

"Checking...your figures," he parrots with a bit of a smirk. "I see. Well when it comes to numbers, your report's in good hands with Spock." Kirk seems to assume in his tone that his first officer doesn't have the inclination to be attracted to me, much less know what to do with me if he did.

I feel moved at knowing something the mighty Captain Kirk doesn't know about Spock before getting internally strangled by fear. Everything in my body is telling me to abort my assignation and take the most expeditious route back to my quarters. Gods, I'm even _thinking_ the way Spock talks. The last person I want knowing what the Vulcan and I get up to is his commanding officer and closest confidant. "Of course, Captain, it can wait for another time if you wanted to-"

"That won't be necessary, Doctor," he replies. "I was on the way to my quarters. I'm curious to see the results once your collaboration is complete."

I smile without showing teeth and nod. "Aye, sir. I'll give it to your yeoman for your review posthaste."

"I'm sure you will." Kirk begins to walk off, but he turns and adds, "Oh, and Doctor?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Your hair. It's..." He points his finger in the direction to the top of my head and traces the shape of my tresses to my shoulder.

"It's within regulations, sir."

"I'm aware of that. I meant to say that it's very flattering."

"Thank you, sir," I murmur as I watch him walk away. I exhale, thinking I could still abort, come up with some illness that would put me out of commission for about, oh, three weeks. I probably would have gone through with it if the door didn't slide open.

I walk in and notice how hot and dry the air feels. Spock is leaning on his desk, arms crossed, brown eyes boring through me. "I was detained," I feel the need to say. "Right outside your door. By Captain Kirk."

"I overheard your conversation." He drops his hands to his sides. I can't help but look at them, those slender fingers with the exquisite touch, and be aroused.

"You were eavesdropping?" I tut three times in mock admonition. "You naughty Vulcan."

"I did review your calculations. They are not accurate. The roster for Weapons does not compensate for the three crewmen from Alpha Centauri VI. The resulting matrix is off by-"

"You don't waste time with the foreplay, do you?" A side of my mouth curls upward.

Spock raises his eyebrow. "I am well-versed in diverse methods of foreplay. This, I assure you, is not one of them."

"Lighten up, Spock. That was a joke."

"The humor is obviously lost on me, if indeed any existed." He presses his lips together like he's suppressing a smirk. "You were going to change your mind?"

"I-" I was about to say I reconsidered, but-wait, how the hell did he know I was thinking about going back to my quarters? I put my hand on my hip and say, "Just because you can read minds doesn't mean you _should_." My voice is firm and doesn't move an octave.

"I didn't," he replies. "It is clearly expressed on your face."

I got nothing for that. "Well, weren't you apprehensive about this at first?"

"No." Spock's answer is simple, definitive. I'm meant to interpret that as a compliment. I do with a slight smile.

"I have to take emotions into consideration. This crew's. Mine. Yours."

"I am in control of my emotions."

"Of that I have no doubt," I reply without sarcasm. "But can you say that about your friends?" I place the data tapes on a corner of his desk and move past it to the foot of his bed. I know he's behind me without looking over my shoulder. I continue my thought. "Me?" I turn around to face him and pull down the zipper of my uniform. "It's hot in here. You don't mind if I make myself comfortable, do you?"

Spock ignores my immediate question and addresses the larger issue. "I do not see how our activities are of any concern to the crew. And as for any apprehensions you have-" he closes the space between us-"I endeavor to remove your inhibitions regarding your desire for me. I find our 'research' personally gratifying. It is not my intent to cease."

"So...me getting naked in your quarters without prompting isn't uninhibited enough for you?" My uniform hits the floor and I step out of it.

"No." His eyes light up. "But under suitable conditions, you in various states of undress is a considerable enhancement."

"Indeed." I sit on Spock's bed to remove my boots, briefs, and hose. It's not as soft as mine, but it's not uncomfortable. I take my time in the act, allowing him to observe silently. I look around the room when I'm down to bra and panties and decide to comment. "Red is a provocative, violent colour. Strange you should choose it." I know better than to bait the Vulcan, but sometimes it's so damned easy. I see why McCoy does it. "_Blood_-red, I daresay."

Spock can't resist even low-hanging fruit. "Vulcan blood is _green, _as you and Doctor McCoy are fond of pointing out. It is illogical for humans to be so arrogant as to assume all cultures share the same cues. What evokes such strong emotions in you is a simple reminder of the sky on my home planet." He's following suit, gently peeling off his uniform and neatly folding them, placing them on a chair.

It's too easy a game to play, teasing him. "And the edged weapons? Let's not even mention the incense-burning bear-lamp thing-"

"Ceremonial reminders of my savage origins." His annoyance is palpable. "I did not summon you here to debate the finer points of interior decorating."

"Oh, right." I recline back on my elbows, triumph shading my features. "You're seducing me."

Spock leans over me, then slowly fills the space just above me, torso covering mine. "I should think you need neither coercion nor cajoling to copulate with me."

"Can't argue with that," I reply as I kiss him.

Spock's fingers slip behind my back to get at the hooks on my bra. He succeeds, deepening the kiss, easing me onto the bed so he can slide the straps over my shoulders and pull it off. He cups my breasts with his hands, his thumb grazing over my nipples. He bows his head to kiss them, suck them. I show my gratitude with an audible sigh and gentle strokes to the back of his hand with my index and middle fingers. I'm trembling by the time his fingers slip under my soaked crotch. He pauses just to _look_ at me. "Celeste." My eyes fly open when he says my name because he's not touching me. I feel strands of my hair sticking to my face. He states the obvious. "You are perspiring excessively."

"I'll be fine," I pant. "I could spontaneously combust right now, and it wouldn't matter."

"It is highly unlikely such an event would occur." Spock brushes away damp locks and frames my face with his palms. Although he doesn't like to have my face obscured, he seems to prefer any excuse to touch it. "I will require your trust before we proceed." His tone is soft, yet earnest.

I'm puzzled by his request and I prop myself up on one elbow. "Spock, I'm in your room without a stitch on, completely vulnerable." Well, at least physically; the emotional armour is still impenetrable. Spock can relate. "It's safe to say you have my trust."

"Excuse me." Spock prepares to get up, but I place my hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"I shall return," he replies, adding a kiss. He parts from me, standing up and over me. "I will assist with your acclimation."

I don't like the separation, but I'm afforded the opportunity to watch him move in the nude. The partition keeps me from seeing what he's doing and I'm getting curious about what Spock means about needing to trust him.

Before the silence turns curiosity to trepidation the Vulcan returns carrying a small hammered bronze box. He places it on the floor and kneels beside the bed. He pours a glass of ice water from a temp-modulated pitcher on the recessed alcove at the head if the bed and offers it to me. "You need to hydrate."

"Thanks," I reply. Though there is almost no humidity in Spock's chamber, my upbringing on the colder environment of Martian Colony Four makes me susceptible to the heat. I consume the water in gulps, but taking care not to drink so fast I get cramps.

Spock takes the glass and places it next to the pitcher. Then he picks up a towel and wipes the sweat off slowly. I wonder how Vulcans regulate their body temperature without sweating, and decide to be somewhat grateful they don't. He caresses my cheek with his free hand. "Close your eyes," he says.

I narrow my eyes slightly. "Why?" I ask. It's a knee-jerk reaction.

Spock raises his eyebrow. "Do I not have your trust?"

My mouth forms a silent 'oh' before replying, "Yes." I get it now. Spock wants to surprise me. I like surprises. Most of them, anyway. I comply and close my eyes, adding a placid smile to my features.

His lips are warm against my eyelids, and I feel him lift my head off the pillow. He slips a silken fabric over my head-no, over my eyes. I'm a bit worried at what he'll take away next. And what the hell's in the box? I tell myself to trust Spock, that he'll never intentionally hurt me.

"Lie still," he commands softly.

My breathing's getting shallow because there's stillness and my ears are straining to hear something, anything. But I do as he says. I gave him my word and there's no going back. I hear a deep exhale before what seems to be the sound of a latch opening. _The box. _ The accompanying hiss makes me grip the sheets, and I hope Spock doesn't hold it against me, but damn if it isn't ominous.

I almost jump at the warmth at my bottom lip but I'm calmed at the realisation that it's Spock's fingers. It's an exercise, and I feel like I'm failing. I'm so visually attuned-my eyes are my main sensors I use to pick up subtle cues-my other senses are initially confused without sight. My world's a bit scary right now. "What are you going to do to me, Spock?"

"Patience, Celeste." Spock's fingertips make a trail from my lips down my chin, the front of my neck, between my breasts, and down my belly before stopping at my navel. "I am conducting an experiment of my own." I'm perturbed because he stopped touching me. I come to hate that initial moment where he breaks contact. I'm starting to sweat again. Another long pause, and my ears strain past my elevated heartbeat to pick up the pattern of Spock's breathing; my nose tries to discern the scent of his skin, his hair.

I do wince at the feel of something intense on my lips, like a fiery bite-no, wait, it's _wet_-and I shiver as the cold goes through me.

Spock takes the melting ice cube away and allows the residual effect to dissipate. His breath feels hot against my lips in contrast, and he kisses me, coaxing my mouth open. He reassures me by sliding his free palm against the back of my hand, and I gradually relax my grip. My lips remain parted, and he slips the ice inside my mouth, allowing it to dissolve and me to swallow before following it with his cold fingers. I warm them by licking them, and that elicits a hitch in his breath. I'd love to see his face.

The tension builds again. I know this is far from over, and I don't know where the ice will go next. A cold droplet of water lands in the hollow of my neck, and I suck my breath in. I gasp when the ice touches my neck, and it doesn't relent. Rather, it follows Spock's trail with chilly accuracy, and I grimace, fighting the urge to thrash, to curl away from him. The cube is more water than ice when Spock places it in my navel. "What. Are you _doing_. To me?" I manage to eke out as my body tries to normalize the surface temperature.

"Helping you acclimate," he replies simply.

"You could've just...adjusted...the environmental controls."

"It would have not been conducive to my research."

I scoff. "Tease."

Spock's heated breath makes slight ripples in the water pooled at my navel. "I never tease," he murmurs before licking up the rivulet, warming my skin, eliciting a soft moan.

"Tell me, Spock-where is the Vulcan whom gets uncomfortable when emotions come into play, the one whom insists in relying on cold logic as the answer to everything?"

"'Cold logic'," he replies. "Is your choice of words another futile attempt at humor?"

"I-_ooh_!" Spock knows just how to shut me up in this instance; the ice freezes my nipple and I try to bury myself in his mattress to get away from it. There's no give. "Y-you m-magnif-ficient b-bastard!"

"It is illogical to insult a lover," he replies as he breaks contact, but the cold spreads through my breast before curling through my body. I don't even get to enjoy the notion that he used the term _lover_ to describe himself. I think I can detect a tinge of mockery in his voice, but I'm never sure with Spock unless I see his micro-expressions. I have little time to contemplate it as I'm agonised again from the touch of the cube on the other nipple. He doesn't leave it there for long; he slips it between my lips and follows it with his fingers. "_Vaksurik_," Spock murmurs against my collarbone. He kisses round the areola of one breast, and I don't want him to stop. He sucks my nipple and my chest rises and rises and rises to meet his mouth until my back is arched, and he traces the curve of my lower back. "Beautiful," he repeats in English. "Absolutely beautiful." His voice seems to reverberate in my spine. He avails himself of the other nipple. He makes aching little nubs out of them; first icy, now burning.

My mouth has yet to close; I've yet to stop moaning. When he stops, my mouth pinches into a frown.

If Spock had it in him to laugh, he would be doing so, gently, at my frustration. I have to rely on subtle changes in his tone. "You moved." He waits for me to settle back on the bed. "It would be logical to punish you."

I stay stock still, holding my breath. I don't know what that means. I'm always up for a good spank, but if he really wants to punish me he'd stop his ministrations. I need to state my case. "It is also logical to be merciful."

The ensuing silence would frighten me, but I find some comfort in his scent still remaining. I want to rip this damned blindfold off; not seeing him is punishment enough. I want to see his face and body react to my pleasure, see expression bloom on his features for a tiny season before he buries it under a snap frost. But I do my best to lie still.

Spock kisses me and slides his now-warm hand down my belly and rests his palm against my mons pubis. He presses his fingers against my labial folds and the heat's almost uncomfortable. He makes a circular motion and I tremble.

When he relents and takes away his hand, I find the silence all too telling. "No, Spock," I entreat. "Not there." I think to clamp my thighs shut to ensure he doesn't do what I think he's going to do, but I said I'd trust him. Besides, he wouldn't hurt me, would he?

I get my answer when I feel ice swipe down my clitoris. I let out a yelp as I attempt to move away from him. But he's careful not to leave it there; instead, he slips the now-rounded cube inside me. I'm close to tears and shivering. "I find it odd that your reaction to cold would be so extreme," he says as he uses his fingers to keep the melting cube inside. "The climate of Mars is colder than Earth, and your body temperature is five degrees colder than a Terran human. I supposed you would have a greater tolerance. Perhaps-"

"Spock, please!" I can't stand it anymore. I clutch the back of his hand and attempt to pull it away, but it won't budge. He uses his free hand to dislodge mine firmly and place it back on the bed at my side. He caresses my face, slipping his index finger to rest it on my upper cheek while the other digits rest on my chin, temple, and forehead. "Be still," I hear.

I find myself unable to move, like invisible bonds restrain me. I have no desire to struggle against them, no desire to disobey Spock. I feel as if I'm at the edge of what seems to be a bottomless pit of feral longing, and I'm close enough to burn. Inside me, inside my core, is this melting ice, and in between I ache and throb, needing him, needing the sight, taste, and touch of him.

"So cold," Spock says softly. "I shall alleviate your discomfort."

I'm swiftly carried away from that pit and feel myself on the bed, my arms still weighted down, legs spread wide for him. My clit twitches when he blows on it with what feels like a dragon's breath warding away the cold. I whimper because he stopped, and I say _please_ for the second time tonight.

Spock gives my clit a slow, almost never-ending stroke with the flat of his tongue, and I never noticed until now its smoothness compared to mine. I think it's not the ice melting, but _me._ I notice I can move my hips, so I gyrate them slowly, stirring my need for more. I want to see his head bobbing to match my pace, pinch my nipples, grab his hair, but I can be content with hearing little wet smacks, feeling his fingers sliding in and out, his divine mouth licking, cajoling, bringing me closer.

My moans are loud and filled with the legacy of my species' primal past; despite my efforts to muffle them, I can't hold back. Spock doesn't care at the moment. He is right, I do have inhibitions. I'm gonna have to forget about mindfulness, forget my training. I'm gonna have to trust him and _let go. _ I do and realize that I don't have to chase after my orgasm. I throw my head back, and it's a blinding light behind fluttering eyelids, gooseflesh and sweat, numb fingers clutching sheets, a pulse in my throat almost blocking my cry, and Spock.

And Spock.

I'm fully aware of the pressure of his fingers on my face abating as he slips out of my mind. Just a shadow of his presence remains, and I feel confused and a bit empty.

Spock takes me in his arms, lets me lean against his warmth while he removes my blindfold. I let my lungs fill up completely before exhaling; I need my bearings. I wonder how much of my thoughts he had access to, what secrets he now knows while I was supposedly receiving some stellar cunnilingus. Spock kisses me, answering the silent question of whether or not that part was real. He lies on the bed and I straddle him, finally able to feast my eyes.

"I guess I don't have to tell you how enjoyable that was," I say, making use of my released hands to splay my fingers over the hairs on his chest.

The Vulcan gives an expression of mirth, where his eyes light up and his lips don't curve enough to make a smile. His response is gentle. "No. You do not."

"You could've just asked."

Spock sits up, frames my face with his hands, and touches his forehead to mine. "I do not rely on words under this circumstance."

"Thoughts, then?" I break contact to search his eyes. "Emotions?"

"Someone once told me there are times when emotions are all we have left to go on." He ghosts one hand down the length of my body to rest on my hip. "If I must contend with them I prefer them to be...agreeable."

He takes my mouth as he brings me forward to sink on his cock. I squeeze and Spock gasps, closing his eyes. He lowers his head, but I'd have none of that. I give his pointed ears a firm grasp and tilt his face up. When he opens his eyes, I'm locked in his gaze. I slide up, and he grabs my hips and thrusts upward, deeper, with surprising force. I circle my hips slowly and get my skin as close as I can to his hands, his mouth. It's not close enough. It's _never_ close enough. He lies back, rapt, his breathing audible. I grind away while he frames my shoulders, cups my breasts.

Spock sits up again, manoeuvres us so I'm lying beneath him. He enters me again. His thrusts. Always slow, always until I feel I have to beg for mercy. He kisses me and caresses my cheek before resting his fingertips on my pressure points. He rolls his hips as he slips in my mind, bonding my sensations with his.

It's difficult to discern where Spock ends and I begin. Great Bird of the Galaxy, _this_ is how it feels to penetrate a human female? I'm keenly aware now of that pit of longing, except this time I'm falling in it. Burning, crushing lust surrounds me, subjugates me. I realize that this is what Spock carries inside him, and if I stop to think about it my heart would break. I moan and I hear him moaning with me. I wrap my legs round his torso and squeeze. I'm flooded with pleasure, almost enough to vocalize _fuck, that's amazing!_

"Yes," Spock responds out loud, "it is." He deepens his strokes and I shudder, taken by shifting perspective. His breathing matches mine-deep inhales, audible exhales. He interlaces the fingers of his free hand with mine, and there's such a surge of feeling, a tidal wave cresting. I want to hold on to it, but Spock is the wiser. "Let it happen," he says, his voice almost foreign with the weight of shared passion. "You are human. You are allowed."

The wave crashes, I come, and Spock is with me, my cry of release mingled with his. My breathing's ragged and my skin tingles all over. Although Spock's release on my pressure points is gradual and careful, I feel bereft. Here I am beneath him, overheated. And stripped to the bone. My mouth feels dry, and Spock's chest is damp from my sweat. He lifts himself off me, and I feel some relief, but it's still hot as Vulcan in his chambers. Spock pours me a glass of water; I'm surprised and grateful it's still cold. I down it and sip the second glass.

"I shall adjust the environmental controls." Spock squeezes my hand gently before parting from me.

I hate not being able to touch him, but am grateful for his accommodating me. I hear him tell the computer to lower the temperature to a relatively comfortable 229.8 Kelvin. "We're both from red planets, yet our worlds couldn't be any more different." I look down and brush away a forlorn thought. "_We_ couldn't be any more different."

"There are...commonalities we share," Spock replies. I give him room to lie next to me after he takes my glass. He adds, "Some of them transcend our differences."

I cross my arms in an attempt to put distance between the Vulcan and me. "Not all of our differences." I have to say it. "Spock, I just experienced something I've never experienced before, and I don't know how to-"

"Feel?" His interruption is clinical.

I tighten my jaw. "Yes. You're still in my head, a little bit, and I don't know if what I'm feeling is me, you, or us."

Spock reaches for my chin with his hand, but I pull away, so he settles for my shoulder. "There are, at times, residual effects when emotions are particularly strong. They will fade, in time."

"You seem to be fine."

"I am not unaffected," he replies. "This is true of every encounter I have with you, mind-meld or no." The depth of his voice is unmistakable.

I narrow my eyes. "Don't start, Vulcan." I lower my arms. "This is weird enough for me without you getting emotional."

"I shall forgive your insult because of your state. Please do not make a habit of it," Spock chides.

"That's better."

Spock traces my collarbone with his fingers. "Do you...have regrets about what we've done tonight?"

I cover my mouth before caressing his cheek, his angular cheekbone. "Oh, no, Spock. No. It's just that I'm not used to this kind of intimacy." My mouth slides over to one side. "I was curious about the mind-meld, what it does to a person. Eventually I would have found a way to ask you outright."

"The most logical solution to 'finding a way' to ask a question is to simply ask the question."

"Nothing is simple with you, Spock."

"Humans have a penchant for complicating a vast majority of situations."

"Would you have answered had I simply asked in our sessions?"

"No."

"I rest my case." My fingers trace his eyebrows. "Y'know, I always thought that being a telepath would put me at an advantage in my practice."

"And now?"

I accept his embrace. "I'm not so sure. Inscrutability has its charm." I bury my face in his chest to get one last memento of the evening before looking up at him with finality. "I need time to process this alone."

Spock's lips seem slightly pinched. "That seems logical."

I sit up and look back at him. I can't get over how he looks in repose. "May I use your shower? I'm a sweaty mess."

"You may." He strokes my index and middle fingers with his own. "Do you still trust me?"

"It's not about trusting you, Spock," I reply. "It's about trusting myself."


	7. Chapter 7

I'm recording my results in my medical log when Uhura tells me of an incoming message from Starfleet Medical. I thank her and take the message: my request for access to any new data on Vulcan neurology from the Vulcan Science Academy has been denied. I massage my temple to attempt to stem the rising tide of a tension headache. I will have to rely on what's in the ship's library and empirical evidence to complete my study, and I know I will lose credibility if I release all of my observations. I get the idea that some Vulcans don't like my research-or my test subject, for that matter.

I look up at the chronometer above the door. I've done another very long day and decide to stop. I have my notes; the log will keep. I don't feel like eating or sleeping, and my mind's not going to let me meditate yet, so I head for the observation deck for grounding and decompression. I have it to myself at this hour, so I make the most of it by looking at the stars in solitude. I try an old trick my dad uses to keep my mind from wandering off and calculate _pi_ as far out as I can at a slow, even pace. I make it out to the twelfth digit before thoughts of soft touches pop in my mind, fleeting presses of heated lips and slender, nimble fingers. There's that sensation of being near that bottomless pit, and I try not to slip. I feel haunted.

I told him I needed time to process the effects of the mind-meld, but what I mean is I need time away from him to not process it. It's not known behaviour, so it makes me uncomfortable. I hate sitting with _anything_ uncomfortable, so I take on my caseload and my hobbies with aplomb to keep it at bay. During the week I find a great aikidoka and _go_ player in Lieutenant Ikeda from Botany. And I've kept my Tuesday night with the ladies. But sometimes Spock slips through, what he's shown me, what he can do to me, and it's more than some fantasy or daydream. My senses are much more acute, like he's there, and I can't control the outcome. And I have to be in control.

I take in a deep breath so I can divide 22 by seven again, but I catch a familiar scent, close my eyes, and sigh. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Commander?"

"I am unable to rest. I am...troubled," I hear that lovely baritone say.

"Imagine that. How long have you been standing there?"

"One minute six seconds." Spock's nothing if not accurate. "I wanted to see if you are well. Your absence is acutely felt."

"As is your presence now," I add. "How did you know I was-oh, never mind. Still weird." I don't want to turn around just yet. "Nobody but Nurse Chapel knew this is where I go to get perspective. This ship's too crowded. I'm gonna need a new place to get away from it all."

"You are vexed. Let me help."

"I'm fine," I reply and my tone's not convincing. I give myself a moment to enhance my calm. "I've just had a demanding day. Larger caseload with the holiday season coming up, the Vulcan Science Academy turning down my request for no good reason, our upcoming crew evaluations-"

"I did say you would not receive any assistance. It was illogical to assume they would-"

"Vulcans and their logic. We all have our fetishes," I retort with a sneer he can't see. "I had to try. I'd like to have a better idea of what I'm working with." I scoff, and turn to face Spock, half of his face hidden in shadow. I lower my voice and add, "Or what I'm sleeping with."

Spock moves closer so I can see the raised eyebrow. "Perhaps there is nothing the Academy can contribute to your study."

"Perhaps. You're in my head, you know that? Making me feel things I haven't felt so uniquely before. Making me wonder what I've given up. I don't think the Academy would dare to look into that."

"The mind-meld is deeply personal for Vulcans. What I experience with another is not the same as what I experience with you. And you may have a different encounter were you to meld with-"

"Uh-uh. There's no way I'd let someone else up in my head. Hell, _I_ don't like being up there for too long." I cross my arms. "You spooked me a bit, Spock, and I'm dealing with it in my own way. But don't think for a second that I regret it. Any of it."

"I am delighted to hear that." He spreads one arm out toward the exit. "Shall we continue our conversation-"

"Yes. My quarters."

* * *

"So, what dirty little secrets did you find out about me?" I shift on the bed to grab my glass of water from my headboard shelf.

Spock eases back in the chair across from me. "You underestimate yourself again. You have revealed nothing you do not want me to know." There's a glint in his brown eyes. "You have a strong will, and your mind is trained to be focused. When we joined minds, we thought of nothing else but the joining of our bodies."

"But it's possible for you to push further if you wanted to, force your way in, literally 'pick my brain'."

"I would not desire to do so; we find that extremely distasteful."

"But you could if you wanted to."

He sighs and lowers his gaze before answering. "Yes."

"I see. I have these very strong thoughts of you from time to time, where all of my senses are engaged. They're more than my normal fantasies. They are getting weaker, though, so I'm guessing the side effects of the meld are wearing off?"

"It seems so."

"Do you have them?"

Spock doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"That must have been inconvenient for you on the bridge."

"No. I can control my thoughts."

"I manage mine. Be mindful, let them pass through and refocus. I get by, most of the time. The times I don't, I excuse myself."

"Explain."

I cock my head to one side in a slight motion and give him a pointed look. "I. _Excuse. _Myself. You know." I take another sip from my glass.

He raises his eyebrow. "I do not know." He leans forward. "Please explain."

"You really don't know what I mean." I place my hand over my mouth to stifle a grin and put it back down on my lap when I muster curled lips. "Well, when my thoughts get to be overpowering, I retire to somewhere private, like the head, secure the door, sit down, spread my legs wide, slip my fingers down my knickers, and-"

"You mean you...masturbate," Spock replies as clinically as possible, the greening of his ears betraying his disposition. "That is a very...human thing to do."

"It's healthy human behaviour."

"That may be correct, but I am not human."

"So...Vulcans don't wank?" I gauge his irritated look and add, "That explains so much, and more's the pity, Spock. But you do seem to be a bit uncomfortable talking about self-gratification, much like a human."

"I find that remark rather insulting."

"I don't mean to." My tone is serious now. "You were holding back during the meld."

Spock moves to sit next to me on the bed. "To protect you." He lifts my chin so I meet his gaze. "You did the same."

"To protect me." I place my hands on his shoulders. "Gods, you're getting to be a habit."

"Not all habits are detrimental."

It feels so good to be in his embrace. "Oh, you think you're good for me, Vulcan?" I slide my fingers up and down the back of his neck and bring my mouth close to his pointed ear. My voice takes on a sultry tone and I punctuate my sentence with kisses. "I suspect you implanted those distracting...naughty...persuasive...delicious...thoughts in my head just so I confess to you how worked up I get over you."

Spock nuzzles my hair. "I need not implant what already exists," he says. "And your 'confession' has a lingering effect."

I tug gently at his shirt. "Tell me, are you controlling your thoughts now?"

"No." It's been a week since we kissed, and we savour it. He breaks the contact and my expression implies complaint. "Disrobe," he tells me softly. "I wish to see a demonstration of this 'healthy human behavior'."

I've unzipped my uniform when I hear the intercom. "First Officer to the bridge. First Officer to the bridge." This may be the only time I hate hearing Uhura's voice. Spock doesn't hesitate to get up and press the intercom button and respond that he's on his way. I sigh. "Duty calls. Another time, Commander."

He's already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay and the brevity. School's back in.

The next three chapters were originally one large chapter the Document Manager and I argued with, so I broke it up. It is also some of the most difficult chapters I've written so far, so I hope I've pulled something off. If not, you'll let me know...won't you?

Thank you for your reviews and support. I hope you continue to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing this. XX

Alright, I won't delay you any further :-)

* * *

I find I don't have to sit on my hands when Spock and I discuss the mental fitness of the crew. Doctor McCoy is there for the first week to guide me through the process and needle the Vulcan. I'm quite grateful, even if I've had to ask the gentlemen if they would like to have time to themselves once. It does make the time go by.

Spock asks me to see him in my office, and I don't object. I wait for him to sit on the new leather couch before I begin to take my seat across from him. "Please," he says, pointing to the space beside him, "sit here."

I humour him, crossing my legs after sitting on the couch. "What's on your mind, Spock?"

The Vulcan gives me a contemplative gaze before he cards his fingers through my tresses. Spock can't not touch me when we're alone and in close proximity. I'm about to remind him not to get too amorous when he says, "You said you want to know more about me."

"I do."

"The quest for knowledge is mutual." He traces the outline of my ear with his finger. "I have only met one human female with a disposition similar to yours."

I grimace a bit. "Well, we like to think of ourselves as unique, even if we aren't." I'm not jealous, and I'm aware that Spock is not a virgin, but I'm not ashamed to admit to myself I'm slightly bothered by the mention of a predecessor. "Tell me more about this remarkable woman." I know he's going to anyway.

Spock tries to ameliorate me. "She was my first officer when I served under Captain Pike. Although she is an extremely capable and logical woman, I was never attracted to her as I am to you, Celeste."

I bite my bottom lip before replying to mitigate the feeling of foolishness. "I'm curious as to why you chose to tell me this here."

"I wish to accommodate both of our curiosities by joining minds." He observes me tightening my hand and take a deep breath before adding, "You see this office as safe. The last time we melded you were not aware of the process. Perhaps if we were to join minds here-"

"I'd be less apprehensive about it?" I take a deep breath. "Spock, I've had time to think clearly about this. This is fearful to me." I place my hand on his and squeeze gently. "But I didn't join Starfleet to stay scared." I give him a nervous smile. "Happy hunting."

"Do I still have your trust?"

"Yes."

Spock looks directly into my eyes as he presses his fingers against the pressure points on my face. "My mind to your mind," he says in a low, firm voice. "I know what you know. I feel what you feel. Our minds are one."

His eyes are the last I see before everything goes stark white.


	9. Chapter 9

My Cydonian dome on Mars.

His spacious home on Vulcan.

I'm basking in the sunlight of my older brother Lysander.

The sun's a blood-red dot he's looking at through the window as his older half-brother Sybok thumbs through a book.

Lysander dotes on me when he's home on break from the Martian Institute of Technology. He has to-Mum's off-planet and Dad's buried in formulae in the study.

He tells stories about college life that are rather boring, but I laugh anyway. He gets serious and tells me he's found the girl he wants to be sealed to. I am overjoyed.

Sybok dotes on him before he's off to the Vulcan Science Academy's astrophysics programme. He shouldn't-Spock gets taunted to no end for his mother being from an emotional race, and Sarek's already warned the eldest not to act and say radical things. Sybok doesn't care. He says that his propensity to feel should be tempered by his propensity to think, not driven out by it. Sybok is expected to eclipse his father's intelligence and add to the family's accomplishments. He laughs at Amanda's choice of bedtime reading for her son. Spock tries to hide his embarrassment, but Sybok reassures him by saying he likes Lewis Carroll and smiles.

_"Don't go... Don't leave me!"_

My body tenses up because I haven't been here in over a decade. I don't want to be here, much less have Spock accompany me. But he is here with me, in this room, in the dark. Where my sun sets and all that I thought was good leaves me. I can smell him, still see his face as I pull my older brother from his makeshift noose, and try to resuscitate him. I fail. Lysander's gone. He never tells me what made him do it, but I suspect rejection. I would've never rejected him. I never knew I could hold so much pain and rage, never thought I'd stop crying. No, I _weep._ I thought if I cry hard enough he'd hear me and come back. He never does. I feel tears on my face now. It should've been me.

_"Sa-mekh!"_

Sybok screams for his father as members of the Vulcan Security Forces literally drag him from the courtyard. He's been branded _V'tosh ka'tur_, a Vulcan without logic, and he has to leave the planet never to return. Spock watches helplessly with his mother as she tries to shield him from the spectacle. "Father, please do not let them take me away!" Tears run down Sybok's eyes. "I am what I am supposed to be; what we're supposed to be." What Spock feels, what _I_ feel, is the crushing weight of grief, and Spock tries to keep it at bay.

Sarek is unmoved. "You chose to reject our ways. You chose to reject what is logical. You chose to reject _me_." He turns his back on his firstborn son and walks to his wife and child. "We will speak of him no more." The look he gives makes it clear that it's a warning. Sybok is gone and he will never return.

Mariko smacks my hand with the bamboo stick I dropped again. I only had to last two more minutes, then I would've held them straight out for an hour. But I'm proud because I showed no discomfort on my face. My grandfather's stepdaughter is a difficult taskmaster, but as the head of the sole finishing school on Mars, she has to be. I'm here because I was emotionally labile after Lysander's death and I started to crawl into a bottle of bitter algae wine to dull the pain. My parents can't deal with me; they could barely deal with themselves. So they send me here. Here I learn to hone _tatemae_-the facade of my outer expression-while keeping _honne_-my true emotion-deep inside and managed. I learn to still my mind in meditation, to focus on the task at hand. Here is where I also discover my sexual curiosity. Here is where I become the woman I am.

_"It is an illogical decision. You do not belong among the humans."_

"I do not belong here," Spock replies to his father. He's decided to go to Earth, to Starfleet Academy. "My dual heritage will always be a exclusionary trait, a defect."

"You are my son," Sarek points out. "You come from a line of great Vulcans."

"And yet I am constantly reminded of how human I am."

"Your attendance at the Vulcan Science Academy would work toward eliminating the perception that you are, somehow, substandard."

"Sarek," he says, his chest tightening slightly. "Father, I have made my decision. I am determined to follow this path regardless of what the Academy Admissions Board-or you-believe." He adds in a softer tone, "I am not rejecting you."

His father raises his eyebrow in a moment of painful contemplation. "You have made your decision, Spock," he says gravely and raises his hand in the salute. "Live long and prosper." Sarek turns his back to him and summons Amanda. She's not far; she overheard the whole exchange. "Your son is leaving for Earth. Bid him farewell."

Amanda is crying, taking Sarek by the shoulders. "Husband, please try to understand how difficult this is for Spock. He needs your support. He needs_ you_, now more than ever." When Sarek remains unmoved, she goes to her son, touching his cheek. "Spock, don't leave like this. Reach out to your father."

Spock wipes a tear from Amanda's cheek but his face remains as stony as his father's. "Farewell, Mother."

_"Hold up half the universe with me, Celeste." _

People say girls want to marry their fathers; they were wrong. I find my brother in Felix-the same feistyness, same sense of humor, same passion, same eyes. Felix gives as good as he gets in every aspect, and I could love him for that. Felix knows my secrets and refuses to run.

But Felix is not Lysander, and I'm not the little sister who looked up to him. I am ambitious and inscrutable, never giving more than I absolutely have to. I also tend to relieve my stress via a glass too many. I lie to myself about that, the drinking, because I could still function. My drive exhausts Felix. He's tired of trying to defrost a Cydonian ice queen, and I'm tired of trying to instill some sense in a Lunar schooner. So _I_ run. The day I left Felix is the day I stopped drinking. It's also the last day I wept.

I'm surrounded by white again. I can't see which direction to go. I feel Spock take my hand and I follow where he goes...


	10. Chapter 10

Spock breaks the link with some reluctance, and he takes my trembling form into his embrace. He holds me for what I wish is an eternity. He doesn't have to tell me what to expect; I already know. The emptiness of having most of my mind back and the coldness where the heat of intense, unbearable emotions once were overwhelms me, and I dig my fingers into my palm to keep the tears from welling up. I can feel his breath normalising, and he lifts my head up from his shoulder because I'm still tense. He looks down, uncurls my hand and notices the bloody half-moons in my palm. "You are injuring yourself," he says.

I'm not even aware how hard I clenched my fists. I never am. I respond with an absent-minded _oh_ and relent. I see Spock studying my face with a sense of concern. "A physiological response," you say more to convince myself.

"It is a most disconcerting response." He leans over to the box of tissues on the table, pulls two of them out and carefully places each folded one on my palm to stanch the blood. "You should not be so careless about your hands." He stands me up, places his hands on my shoulders. "Have Doctor McCoy or Nurse Chapel tend to your wounds immediately."

"I can take care of this myself," I answer.

"I was not making a request." He takes my face in both of his hands. "Celeste, you need not be alone. I am not going anywhere."

"You can't. We're both stuck on this tin can; where you gonna go?" My attempt at levity gets me a micro-scowl. I sigh. "Okay. I'll get cleaned up and I'll come visit."

"We do not have to-"

"I want to," I say firmly. "I don't want to talk or commiserate, and you don't want to either. So let's not."

Spock kisses me on the forehead, then my lips. "Do not delay."

* * *

I discover just how nit-picky Spock is on the job during the crew evaluation process, and he discovers how terse I can be, especially when he confiscates my third cup of coffee. McCoy does not come to my rescue and seems rather amused the Vulcan has someone else to spar with.

But the few times we manage to spend together off-duty more than makes up for the mutual irritation. Sharing our memories seems to enhance the physical bliss I feel with Spock, but I'm still somewhat ambivalent.

One post-coital moment, Spock's in the chair at the foot of the bed playing a gentle tune on his _ka'athyra._ I smile as I listen; he looks placid, serene and I'm glad to have these little bits of time. After he finishes his song I brush my toes against his bicep to get his attention. "Spock, what's your family name?"

Serenity gives way to puzzlement on Spock's face as he puts his lyre aside. "It is odd you would have such an inquiry at this time."

"I don't think so. Personal moments are appropriate for personal questions." I come up on my knees and crawl toward him before lying on my front, propping my chin on my hand. "After being naked together, the least you can do is tell me your last name."

The Vulcan leans towards me, shaking his head. "You cannot pronounce it."

"Try me," I purr. "I took Vulcan as an elective at the Academy. And after treating a !Kung patient"—I'm careful about the click—"I tend to be up to the challenge."

Spock brings his lips close to my ear. After he tells me his name, I furrow my brow and reply, "Hmm. If I were to say it backwards, would you return to your own dimension?"

"I don't understand."

"An allusion to an old comic book character. The effect is totally ruined now that I've explained the joke."

Spock collects me and places me on his lap. If he overtly displayed moods I would suspect he's not in a jocular one. His fingers follow my spine and I arch my back. "Is this not a better effect?" He doesn't give me any time to respond; he guides himself inside me and he watches me gasp. "I believe it is," he says against my collarbone.

"You…trying to…break the human?" I struggle for words as I try to match his rhythm.

Spock does not have that problem. "Highly unlikely. I find your stamina remarkable." He frames my hips and takes a moment to watch me move. "I am offering an incentive."

My head goes back as I moan and I shift to get a really nice angle. I can't find words right now, but I know one thing for certain—I _love_ Spock's incentives.

I'm getting to him. "You will…see me…more often, yes?"

My mouth is slack as my head lolls forward and I muster a nod. I'm enjoying the ride.

Spock takes the hair covering my face in one hand, puts it behind my head and pulls. We're face to face, and his eyes are almost black. His voice has an edge to it. "Speak, human. Say 'yes'."

I lower my chin just so, displaying my submission. "Yes," I breathe.

"Tomorrow night. Yes?" He drives deeper, and I make these little sounds that are about an octave above my normal voice. "Yes?" he repeats. He won't ask a third time.

"Yes, Spock," I reply more audibly.

His eyes close and his jaw tightens at the sound of his name. Good, he can't see me bask in the moment. It doesn't last. He opens his eyes and drives deeper still. "Say that again," he commands, his gaze fixed on my mouth.

I need to find an interval between gasps to give him what he wants. "Yes, Spock."

"Again."

"Yes, Spock…. Yes. Spock…. Yes…. Yes…. _Yes._ Oh, **yes**!"


	11. Chapter 11

I'm waiting for Spock in my quarters, spread out on my bed exposing my bare back and top curve of my buttocks. I've dimmed the lights and lowered the temperature a bit to facilitate the use of the white synthetic fur throw concealing my bottom half, and I'm propped up on the pillows. I've had a productive day debating with him on the mental fitness of some of the crew, and I'm so ready to make up. That was before the _Enterprise_ reached Benecia's orbit, so it's back to the bridge for the first officer. I hear the door. He's right on time. "Come," I say with a pleasant tone.

"Doctor Parker, I-You were expecting someone else?"

My eyes widen at the first syllable, and I'm in the process of bringing the throw up to my neck when I see him. "Captain? Oh, my gods! Sir, I-"

"It's all right, Doctor. It's a misunderstanding." Kirk tries to stifle a grin and turns around. "I know you're off-duty."

"Sir, you needed something?"

"Yes. I need your assessment. Get dressed and see me in my quarters in fifteen minutes." I hesitate and he adds, "Mr. Spock is on the planet surface calibrating equipment; I'm afraid he won't be joining you."

I feel like I've been punched in the gut, but I dare not let him see it. "Fifteen minutes. Aye, sir." I wait for him to depart before adding, "That should be enough time for me to pick up my face."

* * *

Fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds later I enter the captain's quarters, and Kirk is sitting at his desk, on the other side of a tri-level chessboard. "Do you play, Doctor?"

"I'm better at _go_, but I play, sir." I sit down. "You said you need an assessment."

Kirk does not wish to change the subject. "White or black?"

I nod and smile in compliance. "I'm already on the defensive, so I'll be black, sir."

Kirk moves his pawn. "Doctor, I run a tight ship, but I do not micromanage. As long as my orders are carried out and our missions are successful, my crew is free to do what they want when off-duty."

"Understood, sir." I know I'm just reacting with my move, which is exactly what he wants. James T. Kirk is a master tactician, can talk computers to death. I don't stand a chance on this playing field, but we both would be disappointed if I didn't give him my best.

"But I am concerned about each crew member's well-being. I've lost...too many...during this voyage." I can hear the sincerity in his voice. "The people closest to me are members of this crew and exceptional Starfleet officers. So when one of them does something he does not normally do, what do you think should be my course of action?"

I exhale as I move my knight. "Captain, you're not the type of commander to ask for advice on how to-"

"Do you know what you're getting into with Spock?"

Well, there it is. I know we'd have this talk, and although I'd prefer this later than sooner and on my terms, I'm relieved to get it over with. I sigh and make my move. "What bothers you most about this, sir? That Spock is having a sexual relationship, or that he's keeping it from you?"

Kirk doesn't answer. He remains on the attack. "Spock may not be human to you, but he can be hurt. I won't let you hurt him, do you understand?"

I nod, adding, "Yes, sir. I understand. More than you know." I put my queen into play. "May I ask you a question, sir?"

He smirks. "Yes."

"How did you know?"

"I had a hunch."

"Oh?"

"If there's one being I know more than anyone else in the universe, it's Mr. Spock. I know when he's keeping something from me." He lifts his chin slightly. "You're the only woman he spends this much time with, and he's never voiced a single complaint. Nothing about you being highly emotional or illogical. Nothing."

I shrug. "That doesn't mean anything. I could very well not be worth commenting."

"From what I saw when I came in your quarters, that's not true." His gaze gets intense as he takes my bishop. "Not even Mr. Spock can resist your allure."

If it were anyone else, I'd smile. I still have to recognize a compliment. "You flatter me, Captain."

Kirk takes another piece of mine. "I'm not being kind, Doctor. A woman capable of getting Spock into her bed by sheer force of presence is a formidable woman."

I cock my head slightly to one side. "Is that why you have me here playing his game? You want to see the extent of my 'force of presence'?" I put my queen right where I need it to be. "Check."

"We're both playing his game." Kirk saves his king and changes his plan of attack, softening his voice. "Starfleet gave me the option to have the ship's counselor wear civilian clothes while performing his or her duties. I took one look at you and I refused."

As if this uniform is a more modest choice. "Captain's prerogative. Can't argue with that." My mouth moves to one side. "We both know the only reason I'm sitting here is because Spock's having it off with me. Otherwise, you wouldn't give me the time of day, sir."

"You sell yourself short, Doctor Parker." Kirk's grin doesn't quite meet his eyes. It's not meant to-he can weaponise _anything_. **Especially** sex. "I have a new-found respect for your profession."

I massage my temple with my fingers before making my move. "Hmm. You've been more forthcoming tonight than you ever were in my evaluation session."

The captain's hazel eyes are dazzling. "Well, seeing a beautiful naked woman splayed out on fur has an effect on me. I envy Mr. Spock very much."

I do smile at that. There's Spock's game, and there's Kirk's game. "I doubt that. I'm not some impressionable young yeoman, Captain. I know you don't get involved with your crew members."

"And you don't get involved with your patients." Kirk takes my queen. "Or, you're not supposed to."

"Touché, Captain." You give him a slight smirk. "Perhaps only one of us should be a rule breaker, then."

Kirk makes an aggressive move. "Check."

I put both my hands up in an expression of surrender. "Okay, let me defuse this." I put my hands down. "I admit I made my attraction to your first officer very clear. But Spock is a willing partner in this. You know I can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do."

Kirk shifts his eyes from mine to the board. He's taken most of my pieces and has my king on the run. "You don't play as logically as Spock, but you're just as pragmatic. I'll have you...in five moves."

I narrow my eyes slightly. "You always get what you want, don't you, Captain?"

"Not always." Another smile. "Sometimes others beat me to it."

I think it's time for the endgame. "I'll give you my assessment as requested, sir. You're the most powerful man on this ship. You could have me transferred like that," I say as I snap my fingers. "You could tell Spock to end it with me and he will comply. This little bit of theatre? This isn't about me. This isn't even about me and Spock." I cross my arms. "This is about _you_ and Spock, Captain."

We hear Uhura on the intercom. "Captain, all members of the away team have beamed aboard."

"Good," he replies, looking directly at me. "Have Mr. Spock report to my quarters."

His first officer acknowledges. "Spock here. On my way."

Kirk takes his finger off the button. "You didn't think it would take a long time to calibrate a few pieces of standard equipment, did you?" It's in this moment that I think to myself just how attractive he is. "It's your move, Doctor."

I retire my king and stand up. "Sir, I'm not good at this game."

Kirk stands up so we are face to face over the chessboard, noses scant inches from each other. "Then let's play another."

"That one's very dangerous."

Those hazel eyes are amazing close up. "You're not afraid, are you, Celeste?"

I'm about to respond when I hear the door. I straighten myself up and lower my head. "See, sir? He'll always come back to you."

Kirk looks at me for a beat before granting the Vulcan permission to enter. Spock takes one step in. "Captain." He looks over at me and raises his eyebrow, a tinge of bafflement in his voice. "Doctor."

I nod in return, straining to keep my voice even. "Welcome back, Commander."

"Spock, I'm glad you're back. The counselor kept your seat warm for you while we discussed the dispositions of a few personnel." He looks back over at me. "Thank you, Doctor. I will speak with you again soon."

"Captain." I look over at Spock, placing my hand out at the chair. "I'll see you in the staff room tomorrow, Commander."

"Good night, Doctor," Spock replies as I exit. I can barely hear him over my heart beating out of my chest.


	12. Chapter 12

Hours later, I'm still wide-awake on my bed, breathing through my mouth, pupils dilated as I stare blankly at the ceiling. I'm upside down-stockinged feet sliding against the pillow, fingers running through the fur throw now at the foot of the bed. Oh, I'm extremely mindful of what I'm feeling, what I'm thinking about. Here we are, three people who know exactly what we're doing, and perhaps only one of us is sleeping soundly right now. I feel a convergence starting to occur. What I said to Kirk was right; this is a most dangerous game. Yet these games turn out to be the most titillating. I'm electrified. A slow grin creeps across my face as I get up and slip on my boots. All of this is giving me quite an appetite. I'm going to have to look after that.

I know Spock's still up. I just hope Kirk doesn't need him anymore. I announce myself at his door. I hear him summon me, and the door slides open.

The Vulcan looks up from the view screen on his desk with a raised eyebrow. I come round the desk and before he can make an utterance I press my mouth to his. I slide my tongue against his as I straddle him in the chair and I give him a nip on his bottom lip to let him know just how hungry I am. He's taken aback, but again he's denied speech as I cover his mouth with my palm. "I swear to gods, Spock," I say pointedly, "the next thing out of your mouth better be what buttons I need to push that'll make you bend me over this desk and fuck me."

Both of Spock's eyebrows go up and stay up after I lower my hand. I must look wild to him now, hair tousled, the sheen of perspiration, my expression. I must look untamed. Barbaric. He looks a bit confused; he seems unaccustomed to me being so aggressive. But he is curious. He sits back and observes.

"What, no response? No pithy comeback?"

Spock remains silent.

"This is a first." I lean on his shoulders. "Nothing on how illogical I'm being?"

"There is no need to state the obvious." Spock can't leave it all alone.

I'm not pushing his buttons, he's pushing mine. He's going to make me work for it. "Guess I'll have to figure it out for myself, eh?"

Spock wants to know what's bringing this on, and he knows he doesn't have to ask me directly. He brings his hand up to touch my face, but I'm ready for that, pulling back and instead taking his fingers into my mouth. I know what sucking them does to him, and tonight's no exception. When I manage to elicit audible breathing from him, I pull them out and go back to his mouth. I can't get over the way he tastes, the way he feels, how he commits himself fully to the kiss even in a passive role. And he just can't seem to keep his hands off me. I decide to help him out with that.

I break the kiss and pull his shirt and undershirt up over his head. Instead of freeing his arms I use the shirts to pull them behind his chair, twisting the fabric into a makeshift rope. I secure Spock's wrists as tightly as possible without cutting off circulation, but I know it's not truly holding him, given his strength. I just need to hold him temporarily.

I get back to sitting on his lap, seeing his bare chest, bemused expression, and deep green ears. I grin and bring my mouth close to his, and pull back at the last second. I tease him again and again until he raises his hips up in a futile attempt to close the distance. I shift focus and trace the outline of his pointed ear with my tongue, causing him to strain a bit against his bonds. I take the lobe into my mouth and run the flat of my tongue against the underside. "How am I doing now with the button pushing?" I whisper in his ear.

Spock doesn't answer, but his eyes tell me what I need to know. There's a flash of teeth as he swallows audibly.

"Oh, how utterly indecent," I mock. With a sigh, I stand up over him and add, "We can't let you be the only one." I sit on the desk to remove my boots, briefs, and hose. I find the art of pacing myself is not easy when I have a captive audience. I stand between his legs and look at his perfect black hair. I run my fingers through it, finding no tactile difference between his and human hairs. I give him an impish look before agitating the strands in an effort to mess it up. It doesn't work; it falls back into place. I'm perplexed. I gently pull a few strands up, and they just fall down. I shake my head slowly at my failure. Time to move on.

Spock does that smiling with his eyes expression and remains silent. He's going to make sure I earn my triumphs.

I decide to move on, unzipping and sliding out of my uniform. I lean forward so my hairs brushing against his face as I'm unhooking my bra. I press my chest against his and place my cool hands on his sides. He winces at the initial cool contact, and his skin looks slightly greener. I keep my hands at his sides as I kiss the hollow in his throat and the space between his pecs. His chest hairs tickle my nose as I ponder the sensitivity of Vulcan male nipples. "Hmm. A physiological response..." I breathe over one before I take it into my mouth. I run my tongue over the surface, picking up that familiar slight coppery taste. I worry at it with my lips, teeth, and tongue until it turns a deep green and Spock hitches his breath. I start on the other, pinching first, then sucking. Yes, they're just as sensitive as a human's, but I won't insult Spock by pointing that out. He's trying to find that balance of strength where he struggles against his bonds but does not break them. Something occurs to me as I sit back up and face him. He's fighting back his expressions, and there's something deep in his stare. But despite my ministrations, Spock is terribly patient. I grasp the back of his head and decide to let him in on the idea. "I want to hear you beg," I say, sliding down slowly to my knees. I push his thighs apart to get closer and crawl my fingers up his thighs. I undo his fly at an agonising pace and watch his face.

See, the thing about Spock and oral sex is he prefers to be on the giving end. It's where all the control is. I don't get many opportunities to go down on him. Physically, fellatio's very enjoyable to him, but it seems logical to him to "get to the point," as it were. He is a Vulcan, after all. But he's been somewhat "contaminated" by humans, which makes him oh so delightful to play with.

I love holding his cock in my hand, how green and stiff he is, how he throbs at an inhuman rate. How I'm on my knees and yet he's at my mercy. I offer none. I love the little noises he makes through his bit lip as I take long, slow strokes. I brush my lip against the head and the Vulcan twitches. What a surge this power exchange gives me. My mouth waters as I take him into my mouth in increments. I look up and see him throw his head back as I proceed to go up and down. He's hot against my tongue, almost burning. I pause to tell him I could do this all night.

I add more suction and Spock lets out a low moan that reverberates through me. "Good," I say. "Now, beg." Spock gives me a look of defiance. That was before I put his cock back in my mouth as far as I can and go to _work_. I flick my tongue against the underside, and I hear a silent pause before the acute rending of fabric.

He sits up and clutches my shoulders with his now-freed hands and applies sufficient pressure to convince me to stop. "That will be sufficient, Celeste. Thank you."

I release him with a wet _pop_, and he stands me up with him so we're facing each other. I can tell he's slipping because his eyes turn a particular shade of brown and his lips are tightly sealed. He turns me away from him and bends me over his desk, clutching my wrists with one hand. He stretches them over my head and does a much better job of binding them together with the remnants of his shirt. He spreads my legs open with his foot and follows the curve of my buttocks with the palm of his hand. He yanks my panties clean off and I gasp. I feel him press against my opening, but he doesn't move. Frustrated, I try to push up on him but Spock holds me fast by pressing my hips against the desk. I can do naught but curse through clenched teeth. "Godsdamn you, Spock!"

"_You_ beg," says the Vulcan in a low voice.

I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. "You want this just as bad as I do," I pant.

"I can remain like this all night," he replies.

My fingernails dig into the underside of the black desk. I try to move side to side to no avail. "You're bluffing."

"Vulcans never bluff." Spock doesn't budge. "It is futile to resist, not to mention illogical." Debating the veracity of those statements would have to wait. Spock leans forward to get close to my ear. "_Beg_."

I want to cry from the buildup of frustration, but I started this game. Spock is simply finishing it. This is what I came here for-his assertion of dominance, my penance for entertaining temptation. I slow down my breathing and try not to tremble. "Please, Spock," I relent, desperate. "Please fuck me."

Spock raises my hips off the table, raises me until I'm on the balls of my feet, and plunges into me with enough force to push me forward on my elbows. I can feel him against my cervix and it hurts at first. Then the endorphins kick in, coursing through my body, causing my Kegels to contract. I know Spock can feel it too, the way he moves, thorough and deep. But where I'm about to leave his immaculate black desk with nail gouges while I'm hoarsely saying _yes_ like it's a mantra, he reins it in, doesn't get too carried away, shows me why he will never ever beg when he can take. And take. And take.

In my mind, a pair of hazel eyes watches us through the view screen because Spock didn't have a chance to end the conversation properly. Part of me wants Kirk to watch what his unemotional alien friend does to me, want him to see what I do to him. That part of me wants an emotional response from the captain, and it's getting me off.

Spock reaches around and slides the pads of his index and middle fingers against my clitoris. He lets me back up on him and I do so wildly. I think he wants me to come and stop all of this foolishness. But just as I'm about to explode he stays my hips and removes his hand.

I look back at him, unable to hide my frustration. "Why'd you stop? I'm so close," I groan.

"You are not here."

"I am most certainly here," I rave. I here fabric shuffling; Spock is getting completely naked. "What on Mars are you talking about?"

Spock remains calm, turns me over so I can face him, but keeps my wrists bound. "I cannot ascertain your mental presence. It is...unsettling." I sit up and lean on my hands as he cups my chin and I meet his eyes. "Be with me now."

I don't have a chance to react, to turn from Spock's gaze before he enters me again, wrapping my legs around his torso. I watch how his sweeping eyebrows get slightly closer, how his lips part as he hitches his breath. He brings his mouth close enough to mine to take in his breath, and I turn away at the last second.

"Have you not learned your lesson?" Spock asks as he takes my hair in his hand. He gives me a particularly hard thrust as he tugs my strands, making me gasp. He takes full advantage of my open mouth, his tongue echoing the pace of his thrusts as it slides against mine.

Although he'd never admit it aloud, Spock enjoys having me, performing this act his race would have everyone believe he can only do every seven years. Maybe that would be true if it weren't for his mother's contribution to his creation, but Spock is different. Spock is special.

Spock is bloody amazing.

He's slipped his hand between our bodies and started on my clit again. The buildup begins anew, and just as I'm about to climax, he takes his hand away. Spock is also a devious bastard.

"Oh, for the love of gods, Spock!" I can get rather childish when I can't come; I even pout.

"Not yet," he tells me softly.

"I-I can't-"

"You will find you can if you control yourself." He caresses my cheek. "I shall tell you when you may climax." He moves me so my back is on the desk, arms over my head, him lying prone atop me, fingers at my meld points. "Relax, Celeste. Be with me."

I know he's in my head, guiding me, letting me envision my pleasure as a current going through our bodies in a figure-eight, intersecting where we're joined. He tells me to slow it down, sense the course of it, feel it pass up my spine, through my scalp to his scalp, down his spine, through our core, down my legs, at my toes. My senses are enhanced, and yet nothing in the universe exists but me, Spock, and this sexual infinity loop.

"Good, Celeste," he says in my ear. "Very good."

The current's heating up, glowing, speeding, turning red. I'm getting closer to an orgasm.

Spock doesn't stop this time. "Open your eyes and look at me," he tells me firmly. I obey, and I find myself drenched by his gaze. "Be with me."

I watch him breathe evenly and emulate him. The current slows; I slip into its ebb and flow yet I am aware of Spock's presence. I've felt nothing, done nothing, studied nothing like this before.

Time and again I get to the brink, and time and again Spock brings me back down. However each time, that plateau of _so close_ gets longer and longer, and I can sustain a white-hot current. When it becomes blue-hot, I throw my head back and take gasping breaths. I know it's not just me; Spock's emotions are starting to seep and I feel his teeth press against my neck as he reaches up with his non-melding hand and interlocks his fingers with mine. "Please," I implore, my voice a trembling whisper.

Spock's voice can barely contain his emotion. "_Now_!"

I press up into his body and convulse as I feel my orgasm through my whole body, releasing all of that heat and energy. I'd scream if I let my lungs fill up completely with air; instead my cry is hoarse. I hear the Vulcan moan against my neck before going still. He waits for my heart and breathing to slow down, waits for me to see that current slow and resume as two circular routes through our bodies before slipping out of my mind, but he doesn't make another move until he's fully self-composed. I have post-orgasmic spasms that I don't remember being so intense. He pulls out of me, and I make a hissing noise as I wince from the pain.

"Did I injure you?" he asks as he frees my bonds. "I did not wish to do so."

"It's not really you," I say with a groan as I wipe the tears from my eyes with the backs of my hands before rubbing my wrists. "It's friction. We were at it too long." I know the look Spock's giving me, so I head him off at the pass. "Raw spots heal on their own in a few days, Spock. I'm not that fragile."

Spock scoops me up in his arms anyway and places me on his bed. I don't mind. He gets my glass of cold water and offers it to me before lying next to me. He waits for me to finish before he kisses me. I smile after he breaks the kiss and sigh, "Logic for the win."

Spock gives me the Vulcan version of perturbed. "I do not think I will ever understand you fully."

"You don't have to. You understand me enough." I lay my head against his chest.

He runs his fingers through my hair. "I know what you were thinking earlier."

I hold my breath as I look down and exhale as I look back up at him. "I was fantasizing. It doesn't mean that you're not enough or I really want-"

"Thoughts are not deeds, Celeste," Spock interjects. "I will not censure you for them."

"Thank you." I prop myself up on an elbow to be face to face with him. "Still, you don't like it, do you?"

"'Like' is a feeling. I neither 'like' nor 'dislike'. I simply state what is."

I let him keep his illusion. "Are you bothered that I thought about Captain Kirk that way?"

Spock pretends not to hear my question and puts the focus back on me. "I do know that for humans, fantasies can manifest where one is stressed or disturbed. You were...agitated when you entered."

It's telling, Spock's deflections, but now's not the time to push it. "It's just stress." It's half-true. "I needed an outlet, so I came to see you." I grin. "Glad I did, even though I'm going to have to convalesce."

"There is nothing significant troubling you?"

I shake my head and place my other hand on his chest. "No. Nothing a little post-sex sleep and a morning coffee won't fix."

Spock runs his two fingers over the back of my palm. "You are aware you may share your thoughts with me. I will not judge you."

"Yes, I know, Spock." I kiss him before I get up. "You're a fine science officer, but you'd only make a fair psychologist."


	13. Chapter 13

I'm about to drift off to sleep before my brain kicks in. I'm getting too comfortable in Spock's bed, and Spock's doing everything to sabotage my efforts with his warmth and soothing caresses, our rates of breathing syncing up. "Doesn't my presence here defeat the purpose of your pre-sleep meditation?" I ask. I assume he meditates after I leave, but he was in his robe when I came to see him. And his invitation's not a moment too soon—I'm all healed up now.

"No," Spock says, drawing patterns akin to Vulcan script on my shoulder with his fingertip. "Your presence…has a calming effect."

I laugh at that. "Like stroking a cat, or a tribble?"

I'm rewarded with a pointed look. "Cats and tribbles cannot make illogical statements," he adds. "Unfortunately, you can and do."

"Ooh, good one." I trace his jawline with kisses whilst allowing my hand to slip down his torso. "You're highly intelligent and very perceptive."

"Why, thank you, Celeste."

I kiss his earlobe as my finger circles his navel before continuing and whisper, "I shall allow you ample time to ponder what else you can't get from cats and tribbles." I remove my hand before it reaches its target and pull my mouth away from his face before adding, "Nighty-night, Spock." I begin to sit up so I can leave, but Spock holds me fast in his embrace. "Seriously, it's late and I have to get back to my quarters."

"Stay," he responds softly. He brings his hand under my chin so he can look me in the eye. "I do not wish you to take leave of me now. Sleep here with me." Before I can protest, he adds, "I will secure you to this bed with restraints if I have to."

I wonder what's gotten into my lover, and where he can get more of it. "You don't have to tie me up—unless you want to." Even I know that was a weak delivery. I sigh. "Well, then. I suppose I'll be sleeping over." I feel a twinge of trepidation, but I camouflage it with a lightly mocking tone. I raise both of my eyebrows and lower them just as quickly. "You kinky Vulcan."

Spock ignores my quip. "I am curious. You will share your body and even a part of your mind with me. Having been that intimate, why do you resist sharing slumber with me?"

I'm quick to evade. "I snore and have terrible morning breath."

Spock won't have it. "That is not a suitable answer."

What do I tell him? That I'm afraid I'll get too comfortable with him; that I prefer to control _something_, even if it's just the duration of time together? That I still feel the need to protect myself? I shake my head slowly. "It's not logical, is it?"

"It is not."

"Matters of sentimentality rarely are, Spock." I turn away from him on my side. "I'll deal with it. It's nothing you should worry about."

Spock wraps his arms round me so that we are spooning, and envelops me with his warmth. I hear him take in a sudden breath, and exhale quickly. Nobody's told Spock that sighing is an emotive gesture, and I'm not about to be the first. It's cute. But cuteness ends with, "How your gender manages not to answer direct questions is a constant source of bemusement."

"Go to sleep, Vulcan. I'm too tired to engage." I pat his bicep as if to say 'enough'. "Good night, Spock."

He kisses the crown of my head and responds. "Pleasant dreams, Celeste."

If only they all were when I have them. I don't know if minutes or hours have elapsed until I stopped staring at the incense-burning bear thing and gave in to sleep.

* * *

I wake to the feel of Spock's hands roving my torso before finding their targeted areas, Spock's fingers circling my clit and gently pinching my nipples, Spock's heart throbbing at my lower back, Spock's breath against my ear. I respond with a lazy grin and press my backside against his cock. I've slept alone so long I forgot about morning wood. Or maybe I dismissed the possibility of Vulcan males not able to control that aspect of their bodies. Or maybe Spock just wants some more. Anyway, a pleasant surprise for me; quite convenient for Spock. Win-win.

"I want you." The Vulcan shudders. "Let me have you, _vaksur-veh_," he says, a blend of plea and command.

_Vaksur-veh_. Vulcan for _beautiful one_. My eyes open wide. I know that what he's asking for is more than what's on the surface. He wants me exclusively, someone for him and him alone. He has no idea how intoxicating and scary that is to me. I don't want to mull it over. "_Ha_," I respond softly, looking over my shoulder to face him. _Yes_. I open my legs and Spock slips between my labial folds, slicking himself, teasing, waiting. I make myself clear as best as possible. "_Nam-tor nash-veh mat t'du_." _I am yours_.

Spock doesn't move, doesn't utter a sound. He closes his eyes, his ears have a slight green flush, and the corners of his lips curve ever so slightly. I've brought something to the surface, and he's reining it in. He plunges deep within me, making the both of us gasp. When he reopens his eyes they're almost blackened with distilled need. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks. "_Du mat t'nash-veh_." He claims my mouth with a sweet, heated urgency. When he decides I must breathe he breaks the kiss and says it again. _You are mine_.

"Yes," I exhale as he thrusts. His cadence is different—not the usual maddening slow pace, but not very fast. Insistent. He brings the knee of my outer leg up to deepen his strokes. He slips inside of my mind, and it's almost unbearable, the amplification of intensity.

I feel my climax building, and I hold out in a valiant effort. But we both know I won't last. "Come for me, my Celeste," Spock says in my ear, granting permission. "Just for me." I slip my hand atop his, and I go supernova, my body seizing up with each surge. I think I might be blind after that one; I'm afraid to open my eyes.

Spock moves gently, observing my orgasm, taking in what he does to me. "You bring me such endless delight," he says as he wraps his arm round me to get closer. "I cannot resist you." It's an unfiltered thought in an unfiltered moment, and it is sublime. I guide his hand to my mouth and suck his fingers, causing him to resume his cadence, giving my silent assent for his release. He bends his head into my shoulder and pants against my skin as he thrusts. I match his movements with my lips and tongue. "_Aitlun-veh_," he sighs before thrusting as deep as he can comfortably go and stopping.

I release his hand and just lay there with him, allow us to float back down to the surface. He breaks the link and calms me by caressing my cheek and temple. He's still hard when he pulls out of me, but we know we'll be late for our shifts if we keep going. He leaves a trail of hot kisses on my shoulder before saying, "I wish to begin and end each day on this ship with you."

My eyes fly open and I get stiff. "Shack up with you. Are you serious?" I turn and see the Vulcan's face and add, "I should've known better than to ask. Spock, that's a major shift, relationship-wise."

"I see it as a logical progression," he replies, brushing his lips against my ear. "We shall adjust."

I'm taken aback. "So that's it, then? I'm the first officer's woman?"

"_Aitlun-veh_, I want you here with me—body and mind. It would please me greatly if I were to find you here when I retire for the day."

We stare at each other, and there's so much in his eyes he'd never be able to say outright. Once again I lose the contest, breaking the silence with, "You said it again. What does that mean, _'aitlun-veh'_?"

"It is my name for you. It means 'desired one'." Spock brushes a stray lock off my face, tucking it behind my ear. "It is appropriate, as I do desire you, Celeste. Immensely."

"And I you." I kiss the back of his warm hand. "I said I was yours. I'm yours." I make sure I look him directly in the eye. "But I can and will veto on my feet, do you understand?"

He touches my temple. "I understand."

I smile. I feel like I just shrugged and relieved my back of a world. "We'll work out the logistics, but not right now." I sit up and stretch, working the kinks out of my muscles. "I have to get to my quarters."

"Would you like breakfast?"

I shake my head. "I'll get a coffee from the mess on the way to the office."

Spock takes my forearm, gives me a stern look. "That is not suitable nourishment."

"I agree. I don't know what beans they're using—"

He cuts in. "You are consuming too much coffee."

I sigh. "Gods, you are starting to sound like Leonard."

"_Doctor McCoy_ and I share neither the same vocal patterns nor inflections," Spock replies.

I notice Spock's emphasis, but that's not at issue here. "You two do _not_ want to take my coffee away." Spock's slight expression lets me know he's capable of doing exactly that, so I relent. "Oh, okay. I promise to get a muffin, too."

* * *

**A/N:** Armchair linguistics at work. Vulcan language sources: Vulcan Language Dictionary (vocabulary); Vulcan Language Institute Reclamation Project (grammar and syntax). (Send me a message, and I'll send you the links if you are interested.) Please feel free to send any tips, tricks, split hairs, picked nits, etc., to my inbox. I look forward to them.

To the sender of the one message in the box, I read it and appreciate it. I'm glad you care enough to send it. Sorry I haven't responded yet, but I will. Promise.


	14. Chapter 14

McCoy frowns as I give him another face card. "Busted again."

"I told you the odds were-"

"Blast the odds! Do you know how many times we beat the odds?" he reminds me. "Odds and probabilities-don't you ever leave things to chance?"

I shrug. "Not really. And never at blackjack."

"Well, you're missing out on adventure, tackling the unknown."

"I see your point," I counter, "but it seems all I'm missing here is the anguish of not getting the pot."

"Oh, really? Well, what do you think are the odds of you getting a good evaluation if you anger the Chief Medical Officer?" McCoy smirks as he crosses his arms against his silken tunic.

"Conceded." I put the deck down. "This was your idea, remember?"

There's the familiar twinkle in his blue eyes as he sits back in his chair. "I have a better chance of understanding your state of mind over cards than having you lay on a couch and tell me about your childhood."

"Christine tell you that?"

"She might have mentioned it to me."

"Ah." I cock both of my eyebrows and shuffle the deck.

McCoy's right; a formal analytic evaluation would've been uncomfortable for the both of us. He's conducting it in his office in Sickbay. He would've shared his potent potables with me, but he knows my history and respects it.

What he's managed to gather from me other than my skill at cards is that I have some stress about my workload but do not feel overwhelmed, I don't seem to have any issues with treating my patients professionally, I do my best to have a work/life balance, and that I'm sociable but are a very private person. "Everyone speaks highly of you. Even Mr. Spock finds you to be 'sufficiently logical for a human,' and believe me, that's quite a compliment coming from him. How has the experience of spending all of that time with him been?" He's gauging my reaction closely.

"Oh, it's been...one of a kind," I say with a half-smile on my face. "Don't get me wrong-we've had our share of disagreements and sometimes I can't wait to see the back of him. I was rather relieved you told me Captain Kirk left him in the captain's chair while he's down on the surface." Well, I knew that already; Spock told me before I got out of bed. I continue making a dance of the truth by choreographing my words: "That Vulcan exhausts me from time to time."

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Don't I know it? I'd swear he purposely tries to get my goat."

I shake my head. "You two are like an old married couple."

"Celeste, you don't have to be insulting."

"Leonard, I'm telling the truth, and you know it. The two of you need the animosity." I continue to shuffle the cards. "I will say this-though the Commander puts me through his paces, he offers valuable insight on humanity because he's on the outside looking in. I've learned quite a bit from him. I daresay that I like Mr. Spock well." I take in the doctor's scowl, and smile before adding, "Not as much as you, but well enough."

McCoy laughs at that. "I think that's good enough for him." He takes a serious tone, and there's an almost paternal look on his face. "Now, I know you probably don't need this bit of advice from an old country doctor, but...you don't wanna get sweet on Spock. He doesn't have the ability to return human affection. I've already watched one of my staff get hurt."

I sit back in my chair and match his look. "There are a lot of adjectives you could use to define me or how I relate to others. 'Sweet' is not one of them. But I thank you for your words of wisdom."

"You know, I think you get along with Spock better because there's a little bit of him in you."

_Indeed there is, almost nightly, _I silently add, knowing better not to voice it. "I like to think I have a healthy respect for logic and reason. I have to, in my line of work."

McCoy's about to respond when Uhura declares Alert Condition Baker Two over the intercom, which causes the both of us to sit up-it's a security alert. We hear the switch from all hands to just the office intercom where Uhura adds, "Doctor McCoy and Doctor Parker are ordered to accompany a security team to Rec Room Five for a hostage situation."

McCoy hits the button. "Acknowledged."

"Rec Room Five is on this deck. We can get there before Security, and definitely before Commander Spock." I get up from the chair and nab my tricorder.

"We're waiting for security-"

"Doctor. I'm not going to let bodies pile up," I say as I exit the door and sprint down the corridor. McCoy gives chase.

* * *

I enter Rec Room Five to see Yeoman Phillips held hostage, steak knife at her throat. The knife's held by an ensign in a blue tunic, and he's used it to slash the throat of Armorer 1st Class Reynolds, Phillips' significant other. My heart rate's already high from the run, and I struggle to remain calm. I move past the crowd to the middle of the room, facing the issue at hand. I know that at least one of the security officers will want to "accidentally" forget to set their phasers on stun. Reynolds was one of their own.

McCoy comes in right behind me and kneels next to the body. He doesn't bother to tell me she's dead. "What the hell's come over you, Thibideaux?" I can hear the anger rising in his voice. "Explain yourself!"

Thibideaux's eyes are wide, dark, and filled with more uncertainty than rage, and sweat collected in the furrows of his brow. "She...she didn't understand," he said, tightening his grip around Phillips' waist and the handle of the knife. "She just kept mocking me, kept ignoring the pain, the voices."

Phillips wanted to shake her head in protest but the knife limited her head movements.

"What do you mean-"

"Doctor, if you please," I say to McCoy without facing him, keeping my voice even. He was going to make it worse. "Commander Spock will need to be apprised, and everyone has to be calm now." I have to work fast and work from memory. "Thib-Alain, yes? We talked before." Now I remember-I debriefed him and the rest of the geology team after a survey mission on a newly discovered planet not long after I was assigned. I concluded he was fit for duty.

Sweat poured from Thibideaux's forehead into his thick brown eyebrows, and he couldn't be bothered to wipe it off. "Doctor Parker. I remember you. You smell like my aunt."

I swallow my fear and smile. "You can call me Celeste. Can you do that for me?"

"Celeste. That's very pretty. Like you." He touches the blade to the redhead's neck. "She's very pretty, but she's scared of me. You're not scared of me, are you? You should be. Because I need you to take me seriously."

"Alain, I'm taking you very seriously. Seriously enough to tell you that if you take Karen from us, we can't help you. The pain and the voices will get worse because they don't want you to be good. You hate what that does to you, don't you?"

Thibideaux nods, tears flowing down his cheeks and landing on Phillips' shoulder.

"Talk to me, Alain. Tell me what you need."

"I need to leave this place! I need the pain in my head to go away. They get to me here and I can't...I can't..."

I nod as if I'm in tune with him. This is not the first psychotic break due to deep space stress I've dealt with, but it's the first murder. "Okay, you need to beam down-"

"No! I can't...that's how they get to you...get mixed in with you." He hears the doors open, sees the security officers and Spock, and becomes lucid. "I need a shuttlecraft," he says to the entering party.

"Ain't gonna happen, Ensign," one of the officers say, phaser at the ready.

"That'll be all, Lieutenant," I hear the Vulcan say. His voice becomes firmer when he adds, "Ensign, please place the knife down and release Yeoman-"

"Get me a shuttlecraft or she dies!" Thibideaux makes a superficial cut on Phillips' neck close to the jugular vein.

"Hey, easy, now. Easy, Alain," I say, holding my hand out in a halting motion. "It's you and me talking, remember?" I can't afford to break contact with him. "I want you to have safe passage to the planet, but you have to do just one thing so I can make this happen."

"What's that?"

"Let Karen go." Before he can add anything I say, "Take me instead."

Behind my back, I hear McCoy say no and Spock add, "Doctor, I cannot allow you-"

I don't let him finish; I'll say anything to separate Phillips from him and perhaps save him from himself. "Give me a chance to help you." Thibideaux pauses and I add, "Alain, it's just you and me that matters. We can stop the pain, silence the voices together." I do a backward point in the direction I heard Spock's voice. "Commander Spock is the acting captain; he will let us go if you let her go. Won't you, Mr. Spock?"

McCoy responds, "Now wait just one damned minute-"

"Yes, Doctor. I shall allow you to help the ensign," Spock interjects, and I exhale deeply without sound; I weren't sure he would back my play.

"See, Alain? Spock is a man of his word." I press my palms together in supplication. "Oh, Alain, we're so close. All you have to do is let Karen go to Doctor McCoy, and take me. You won't be fired upon." I hold my hand out.

"I-I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt..."

"And you don't want to hurt Karen. Please, Alain. Let me help."

There's a lull where no one speaks. I hope that what I've offered appeals to his fractured mind. Then he throws her off to the side, and lunges at me with the knife. I'm between him and the phasers still, but I'm ready. When I held my hand out I shifted into a good stance and bent my knees slightly. I sidestep him, allowing the momentum of his attack to change his balance. I take his wrist while I turn around. I lock his wrist as I turn back and press my weight against it. I hear a crack as he hits the deck hard and I seize the knife from his now non-existent grip. "Sorry about the wrist, Ensign, but the voices should've instructed you to take proper _ukemi_," I say as the security officers seize him.

I see Phillips slump to her knees next to McCoy and I go to her, embracing her with my free arm. "I'm sorry, Smiley. I'm so sorry." I know she's looking over at Reynolds' corpse because she remains stiff, trembling. I drop the knife to the floor to hold her.

Phillips picks the knife up and knocks me back before I'm aware of it, and moves over to Thibideaux, ready to stab him. The security officers do nothing to stop her.

"Don't,Karen," I say to her firmly. "It's not gonna bring her back!"

Phillips' green eyes are almost aglow with rage and her voice loses its normal bubbly properties, its low monotone chilling me. "Maybe not, but it's sure as hell gonna make me feel better."

"Do it," Thibideaux entreats with a whisper. "_Please_."

Before she could get closer Spock is already behind her, slipping her shoulder between his thumb and fingers and pinching. Thibideaux screams _no_ as the Vulcan catches Phillips' unconscious form before she falls to the floor. Thibideaux is silenced by McCoy's hypo and the acting ship's captain looks at me, his eyes displaying concern. "Doctor, are you injured?"

"I'm fine, sir," I say, looking down at my hands. They're starting to shake.

"I think you should go to Sickbay and-"

"Doctor, I _said_ I'm..." I catch myself and take a calming breath.

Spock passes the yeoman to two crewmembers so he can deal with me directly. There's a flash of anger in his eyes and his mouth tightens to a thin line before he speaks. "Doctor, you were instructed to wait for Security to accompany you and Doctor McCoy here. You put yourself at great risk."

"What?" I give him an incredulous look.

The sternness in his voice doesn't let up. "You could have lost your life."

After picking up my jaw, I tell him, "Time is of the essence in any hostage situation, Commander. I wasn't going to wait for a chaperone."

The Vulcan crosses his arms. "Since you seem uninjured, Ms. Parker, you are confined to quarters until further notice. Perhaps you can demonstrate an ability to follow those orders."

I was just unnerved. Now I'm unnerved and pissed off. I almost ask him which quarters-mine or his-but I think better of it, rushing off to mine. I know what this power play is about, and I can't call him out on it now.

Once there I ask the computer to pull the tapes of the debrief with Thibideaux and the rest of the geological party, go to the toilet, and vomit.

* * *

I'm looking down at my PADD with Thibideaux's file on McCoy's desk as the Trio discusses the incident. I played the tape of the debrief repeatedly, looking for any clue to his state of mind. I think I may have found it, but at the very least I can offer a diagnosis.

"I want to know what happened," the ego says, recalled from the planet surface. "How did this calm, rational, officer become a killer?"

"Jim, he just snapped," the id replies.

"Bones, I lost two of my crew. 'Just snapped' is not a good enough explanation." Kirk looks directly at me. "Do you have a better one, Doctor?"

I stop mentally replaying the debrief to speak. "Ensign Thibideaux had a psychotic break as a result of post-concussion syndrome exacerbated by space stress."

I get a quizzical look for my troubles. "Post-con...cuss-"

The superego speaks up. "He suffered a traumatic brain injury, possibly during the geological survey of Tau Ceti III."

"That mission was months ago. And the both of you cleared him for duty."

"The TBI didn't show up on my scanners in Sickbay or on either of our tricorders," McCoy replies emphatically.

"Minor concussions can be undetectable, and asymptomatic at first," Spock adds.

I add what I think is vital input. "Other witnesses say Ensign Thibideaux complained of a migraine shortly before the attack, but-"

Spock cuts me off before I can make a confession. "Captain, it was already too late for Armorer 1st Class Reynolds. The loss of life is regrettable, but neither Doctor McCoy nor Doctor Parker could have predicted what happened."

"You're right, Spock-they couldn't." Kirk looks at Spock and his expression softens, but his tone does not. "But security procedures are in place to protect the crew, and it would be unacceptable to come back and find my ship's counselor dead along with my armorer."

"Look, Jim, Spock's already spanked her for that," McCoy countered. "And how is what she did different from anything the two of you have done to save lives? The counselor defused a deadly situation, saved the yeoman's life and-"

"By putting her own in danger?" Kirk glares at me. "You could've gotten yourself killed, you know that?"

I bear the weight of his stare by slightly raising my chin, but keeping my eyes lowered. "Sir, I'm aware of that. Have been since being assigned to this ship-"

"What were you thinking?" Kirk's hazel eyes bore through me, and it's more a matter of concern for my well being for him.

I look at the captain, then his first officer, then back at him. "What everyone in this room thought, Captain. 'No more dead crewmembers today.'"

Kirk pauses, making an effort to mull over my response and consider McCoy's input. He looks over at Spock, who offers naught but a slight nod, then back at me. "You are to be commended for your actions, Doctor. But you pull another stunt like that, and I'll court-martial you, do you understand?"

I waste no time responding. "Yes, sir."

"I'll expect a full report as soon as possible, but for now, you're dismissed."

As I leave, I don't think I deserve to be commended, because I saw my glaring error. I'm convinced I could've done more months ago and this wouldn't have happened.

* * *

I attempt to take solace in the darkness and cold of my quarters as I sit in _seiza_, concentrating on being right here, right now. But thoughts-no, not thoughts. Not even memories. _Sensations_ enter my mind and don't slip out no matter how much I tell myself to focus on my breathing. I'm back in that rec room on my knees across from the shell of a vibrant, tough woman I used to know and there's this _fetor, _this stench of death. I've smelled it before when I had Lysander's body in my sixteen-year old arms-

Lysander.

Thought I'd buried that. Well, I did until Spock melded with me, and that was like pulling the scab off a wound. This is putting salt into it. I don't want to sit with this, not now. Not ever.

No sooner than I order the lights on do I hear the doors open. I recall Spock can override the access controls. I don't look at him, instead choosing to focus on the wall scroll-I'd love to obtain no-mindedness. I ask drily, "Do you have more sanctions for me, Commander?"

Spock's tone matches mine. "I had to discipline you."

"Yeah, you did. Nothing will keep you from protecting what's yours, not even me. You followed your instinct. _ So. Did. I_."

I can't see Spock's expression, but I know it remains neutral. "My decision was logical."

"And you were right to censure me, but not just for disobeying orders," I continue. "Ensign Thibideaux complained of a headache during our interview when he came back, and I blew it off. I don't know why, but I did."

Spock moves closer to me. "Do not continue this course-"

"The human brain is so fragile," I continue as if he'd said nothing. I look down at my trembling hands. "Doesn't take much to be bruised, jostled, scrambled-"

"This self-blame is not logical."

I stand up and face him, and I don't bother to mask my now-agitated state. "You know what, Spock? That's not gonna work for me. Not this time. There is _nothing_ logical about what happened!" I clench my hands into fists to stop the shaking. "A crewmember didn't get the treatment he needed for no logical reason. He murdered another crewmember for no logical reason."

"You feel guilty for Ensign Thibideaux's actions-"

"You're goddamn right I do," I retort. "You saw the tape; I'm trained to respond to those cues, and I didn't. I'm responsible for a woman's death, don't you see that?"

"The captain and Doctor McCoy do not find you at fault. I cannot find you responsible for the ensign's actions. You saved Yeoman Phillips' life as well as that of the ensign himself and possibly others. You should not feel-"

"A Vulcan telling a human how to feel. How about that?" I can't keep my throat from tightening up.

"Your emotional state does not allow you to see things as they are. Try to see the logic-"

"Logic's not gonna make it right! Logic's not gonna bring Armorer Reynolds back-oh, _gods_!" I cover my face with both of my hands because I can't hold back tears. "I don't want you to see me like this."

Spock brings me into his embrace, and I yield to his strength, his stillness. "You are compounding this loss of life with another. It is a human trait that is most detrimental." He strokes my hair, my shoulders. "I am not familiar with emotions, but I have been exposed to humans long enough to suggest self-forgiveness to ameliorate your distress."

I give myself time for my brain to absorb his words and tighten my hold on him until I stop crying and offer a weak smile against his chest. "You know what to say and do to make me feel better, Vulcan; how's that possible? You gunning for my job? You wanna be ship's counselor?"

"No," he continues, "I leave that to you, as you are more than capable of performing such duties." His voice lowers, softens. "_Aitlun-veh_, this crew needs you. Yeoman Phillips needs you. Ensign Thibideaux needs you. Doctor McCoy most certainly needs you." There's this space where Spock would say _I need you_ were he not Spock, so he leaves it for me to fill it in.

I sigh into his chest. "I know. Sometimes even psychologists need perspective." I wipe tears off my face before you look up at him. "Spock, I lashed out at you. I'm sorry." I place my palm on his side, feeling his rapid heartbeat.

Spock doesn't bother to tell me the pointlessness of offering him an apology, preferring to remove my hand to hold it. "You have experienced a great deal of stress. You must rest." He leads me over to my bed and as I lie down he straightens his shirt. He has a slight look of chagrin as he notices the wet spots where my tears are.

I reach out for his hand. "Are you going now?"

Spock presses his fingers to mine. "You do not need any distractions. I will go back to my quarters."

"Stay with me," I implore. "I don't think I can sleep unless you hold me. I'm used to you now."

He lies down beside me, holding me. "_Aitlun-veh_, you are trembling."

"I'm scared of what I might see when I close my eyes."

"I am here with you, and this is real." He kisses me on the forehead and caresses my face. "Allow me to comfort you, bring you peace."

I bask in Spock's warmth and nod my head. He places his fingers on my pressure points and calmness enters my mind. "Sleep." I find myself compelled to comply.


	15. Chapter 15

I'm watching Phillips as she's looking out the porthole on the observation deck, possibly searching for the photon torpedo tube containing her partner's body shot out earlier during the funeral. I brought her up here to give her perspective.

I can't call her Smiley anymore. It's hard, having to look at her, having to be strong enough for both of us, watching the spark of her personality seep away, searching her dulling eyes for some sort of condemnation and not finding it. Helping Phillips process her loss and trauma wears me down, but checking on the well being of a heavily medicated Thibideaux in the brig drains me at shift's end.

I get an assist with resuming some semblance of a routine: Crew evaluations are complete, Chapel makes sure I eat, and Spock lets me sleep when I get to his quarters. I hope my mood will change once the _Enterprise_ gets to Starbase 14 and begins court-martial proceedings.

And yet McCoy and Spock conspire to curtail my coffee consumption. Bastards.

"What do you see out there?" I ask softly.

"My past," she replies, her expression wan. She's numbed herself out. "My future. The absence of answers."

"The universe is vast, but not even it can contain all the answers." Phillips scoffs, and I add, "Yeah, that was a bit of rubbish, wasn't it?" I see a nervous smile and know I succeeded.

"Christine says you and she come here to remind yourself how small you are."

"I still do. We just miss each other lately, Christine and I." My nights tend to be less pensive and more...let's just say I get plenty of perspective most nights.

"I always knew there were things greater than myself." I see her straightening imaginary wrinkles on her skirt. "And now one of those things is gone, and I have this sadness in me that seems as endless as out there." Philips seems to transform from a high-spirited, vibrant woman to a lost little girl. "I know, as scared as I was when Thibideaux had that knife at my throat, a part of me wanted to die so I would be with Bonnie."

I purse my lips and carefully construct my words. "A long time ago, I wanted that too. I still look for my brother in the stars, and the universe still yields no answers."

"How'd you get through it?"

"I'm a stubborn old cow, ain't I? I'm too curious for my own good. I keep wanting to see how it all turns out." I turn to face her. "This is your darkest hour, Karen. You have a void. For now, fill it with this," I say, spreading my arm across the span of the porthole. "In time, when you temper your grief with reason, you'll want to see how it all turns out." I place my arm across her back and place my hand on her shoulder. "Let the stars remind you that small as you are, you're still greater than your sadness."

Phillips leans into me. "I just…miss her so much."

I hold her until she stops weeping. For the first time, we both feel relief.

* * *

I get to Spock's quarters after walking Phillips to hers. He's leaning on the front of the desk waiting for me. I greet him with a peck on the lips and begin to walk past him to retire for the night, but he catches my upper arms to keep me in place. I know that intensity in his eyes; know that he's set upon a course of action that will not alter. "No, _aitlun-veh_. Not tonight." He draws me into a deep kiss, encircling my waist with his arms, sacrificing himself to it. I can only yield, let his mouth and tongue go where they want. I miss this terribly, and I don't want it to end.

But it does for now as Spock breaks contact, and I let out a small sound of protest. "I assure you I will continue," he says and goes to sit in his desk chair, legs spread, hands resting on his thighs. "Come to me," he says as he swivels the chair to point toward me.

I comb the fingers of one hand through my hair and let it trail down the length of my body until it rests on my thigh. "What if I were to refuse your order?" Always the smartarse, me.

Spock leans forward. "Such an action would be inadvisable. The particular type of punishment Doctor McCoy claimed I administered to you?"

I purse my lips as I think back to the discussion in McCoy's office. "Oh, you mean when he said you 'spanked' me?"

"Affirmative." His voice gets low. "I would begin with that."

I curl my lips at the thought of being bent over Spock's knee, but I would really like to know what he's planned for the evening. "I see," I reply as I walk over and stand in the space between the Vulcan's legs.

He gives me a single command as he takes a more relaxed pose in the chair: "Disrobe."

I comply slowly, silently, watching his eyes reflect what's just on the surface-an oncoming storm. It's strange-no matter how many times I'm naked in front of him, he makes me feel a little vulnerable when he's not touching me.

It never lasts for long. Spock pulls me down by my arms to him, kisses me languorously this time, re-exploring rather than conquering me. His hands want to cover every inch of my body, and I offer no resistance to his attempts while maintaining a lip-lock. I run my fingers through his hair; trace his ears with my fingertips. We want to consume each other whole. He stands up with me in his arms, and sits me down on the desk. He continues the kiss until he feels the need to speak. "I am curious about particular aspects of your unique biological composition." He reaches for the tricorder next to his view screen and places it on the other side of me.

I stiffen up. "Uh-oh. Another experiment of yours?"

"You have a complaint about my methods of experimentation?"

"Other than having no control measures, and your test subject almost getting frostbite in a place that should never be cold?" I shrug and cock my eyebrow. "No, not really."

He positions me so that I'm lying on my back. "You will find this very agreeable," he says before he starts a trail down my body with his mouth.

"I always do. Spock, what more do you want to know?" I manage to ask while I still have my wits about me. They'll be gone if he keeps sucking my nipples like that. "I mean, I know what gets me off."

"Yes," he replies as he stops short of my navel and looks at me. "However, while I am able to assist you in obtaining states of coital bliss a number of times, I am curious as to the extent of your ability to be 'multi-orgasmic', given more than a suitable amount of clitoral stimulation." He pulls his chair up, seats himself, and pushes my thighs apart. "In addition, I have been remiss in providing cunnilingus. I shall remedy that."

I'm fighting back a giggle because nobody but Spock can describe sex like it's the most boring thing one can do. He's infinitely better at showing than telling here. He does get a bonus for saying 'cunnilingus' without his ears turning green. "I think you like to go down on me because you like to remain in control."

Spock doesn't respond verbally; rather he peers up at me from between my legs with the naughtiest expression I've ever seen on a Vulcan before bending his head forward...

* * *

The _mouth_ on that Vulcan.

"I…really think…You're trying to…kill me," I pant after my last post-orgasmic spasm, curling up and turning outward.

"On the contrary. I do not wish to kill you," Spock says as he slides up behind me, embracing me. "I do wish to engage in certain indulgences with you for as long as possible." After, um, feasting for an indeterminate amount of time and pausing to take tricorder readings Spock has led me to the bed to turn in for the night, shedding his clothing. But he's tasted human flesh and liked it, and I discover the Vulcan has moments where he can't leave well enough alone.

"So, what are the results of your 'experiment'?"

"This is preliminary, of course-"

"Of course-"

"But according to my observations, in the forty-seven minutes and twenty-five seconds that I have pleased you orally, you have experienced thirteen orgasms, said my name sixty-two times, and uttered twenty nine expletives, three of which were religious in nature. Your heart rate increased thirty percent, there is a marked increase in the flow of blood to your skin, and your breathing rate is still erratic. Tricorder readings-"

"Y'know, I can cope with not knowing everything." I elongate my limbs in a stretch and when he places his hand on my hip I press my palm to the back of it. "Do you want me to return the favor, or at least-"

"No," Spock says against my neck. "I am content."

I turn to face him at that. "Are you, Spock?" My fingers trace his jawline, his chin.

He stops ghosting my palm up and down my body to give me a look of certainty. "I am, my _aitlun-veh_." He gently taps my temple with his index finger. "I believe you have a query."

I look up before reestablishing eye contact. I could drown in those brown eyes. "Why me? I know why I want you; I'm not clear as to why you accepted my proposition months ago."

"Your presence is soothing and alluring and your mind...accepts me, whatever I am."

"'Whatever I am?'" I parrot before offering him a mirthful smile. "You are Spock. That is all you need to be."

He traces my lips with his fingers, and I kiss them. "In me there are two worlds, constantly in conflict. One prevails, but it comes at a cost. In you there is a reprieve from the agony."

I kiss him gingerly. "I do all that I humanly can."

"That is more than sufficient."


	16. Chapter 16

I stop looking at the chronometer. It doesn't matter what time we have left. Chapel, Uhura and I want to spend it with Phillips in the lounge on Starbase 14 before morning. I'm all somewhat exhausted having waited with her for the court-martial verdict. Based on my testimony and my recommendation the former ensign will spend the rest of his days at the Daystrom Institute.

As for the yeoman she decides to leave Starfleet and go back to Earth; Captain Kirk reluctantly yet understandably approves her request. She'll be on the shuttle to the _USS Lexington _in the morning. But not before we get one last laugh from her-a joke about surviving the _Enterprise_ Curse of the Red Uniform. Braving Uhura's mock disapproval I say, "You'll be Smiley again," reaching out for her hand across the table. She accepts it and I grin, motioning to the Denebian server to come over. "Another round for us, please." He returns with an Antarean brandy for Phillips, a gin and tonic for Chapel, a Samarian sunset for Uhura, and a Paksor espresso for me. This is a send-off; synthehol simply won't do for them. They've come to accept I'm a teetotaller even if they don't know why.

Chapel asks, "What are you going to do now?"

"Paint landscapes when I'm not making wine. My aunt has a vineyard in Napa Valley; it's nice. I could use the break."

I blow on my drink to cool it. "Sounds lovely."

Chapel takes in a large amount of her drink and makes a light-hearted scoff. "What is it with painting yeomen? Is that an elective at tech school?"

Phillips looks about as confused as I. "What?"

Uhura clarifies. "She's talking about Janice Rand. She painted as a hobby. Nice abstracts." She taps her glass to make her drink glow orange again. "Janice was something else and one of my best friends. Last time I talked to her she was finishing her training to be a chief transporter tech."

"Who-?"

I shrug and Chapel cuts in. "First year in the mission. The one whose name the Captain remembers. We don't have enough time, so her exploits will have to wait until Fizzbin Night." She places a hand on Phillips' upper arm. "We're going to miss you and your non-poker face, Karen."

Phillips looks around the table with a bit of sadness, but she's trying to remain upbeat. "Yeah, who's gonna keep the good doctor from cheating?"

I mock outrage, dropping my jaw. "Hey, I don't cheat. I-"

"-Just calculate the odds," we reply in unison. The table erupts into laughter, and the drinks keep coming. It feels good to laugh again, if only for a little while.

* * *

One of the security personnel on the base helps me carry a drunken Phillips to her temporary quarters. She embraces me as her door opens. "Thank you, Celeste-for everything."

"You wanna thank me properly, Karen? Be good to yourself."

She presses her lips against my cheek. Then loneliness and the need to connect make her press her mouth to mine.

I'm neither upset nor taken aback by the sudden act. It's not the most unpleasant kiss I've ever had, and the vapour of Andorian ale is...so...

Wait, what? Is this aspect of my life not complicated enough?

I'm the sober, responsible party here. I know what's going on. I prop her up straight with my hands holding her arms and look in her green eyes. "That's, um, quite nice. But Karen, I-"

"I know it's transference," she says softly. "I miss her."

"I know you do. And it's okay to miss her. But I'm not Bonnie, and-"

"He's waiting for you on the ship, whomever he is."

I nod. "Yeah. Get some rest." I release her and let her step inside her room. "And look after yourself." I exhale deeply and shake my head before making my way back to the transporter room, back to Spock. I see no reason to tell him about this; I have no residual longing or doubts. Transference comes with the job.

* * *

His quarters are dimmed, and he is not waiting, somewhat to my relief. I see his sleeping form on the bed as I sit in the chair to remove my boots. I think this is a first, Spock getting to sleep before me, so I decide to observe and enjoy. How peaceful he seems to be, and I wonder if his magnificently complex brain allows him to dream. His chest hardly moves, and his hands lay by his sides, his lovely, slender fingers slightly curved.

My lips part and I notice the increase of my heartbeat. I can't remember if another soul ever evoked such a Pavlovian response in me, can't remember if I've ever physically ached to be in close proximity of someone. Even in slumber, Spock moves me. I'm aware of a level of intimacy that cannot be duplicated with another human. And I can't deny the Vulcan's surprising cupidity feeds mine. I realise I have a dependency, and I know it's going to be problematic. But I don't want to stop, not right now. "Gods help me," I say under my breath, forgetting how well he can hear.

Spock opens his eyes and faces me, propping himself up on one side. "Although I am not a deity, I can assist you." His eyebrow is cocked.

"You're doing more than your fair share of assisting me," I reply drily. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You have not harmed me. Vulcans can go for extended periods without rest." He makes a space for me. "However, humans cannot. Prepare yourself for sleep."

I remove my uniform and put it away. "I'm surprised you didn't wait up," I say as I divest myself of the rest of my clothes and head to his latrine sink to brush my teeth. Good idea to remove scents and tastes he'll not find agreeable, like coffee and some other human's mouth.

Spock waits for me to complete my task. "I saw no need, and you informed me not to do so."

I slide in under the covers next to him, and he takes me in his arms. "Now, since when have you done what I said?"

"I admit it is rare. You rarely offer suggestions that are logical."

One of these days I'm going to learn not to leave snark bait for Spock. Until then, I engage. "Oh, I have another suggestion for you-"

"I will not kiss your posterior, nor will I 'go to hell'."

I'm having a difficult time suppressing a laugh. For someone with no sense of humour, Spock's comedic timing is almost always dead-on. "Had another row with Le-Doctor McCoy?" His look suggests he did and that's cue enough for me. I turn away from him into my most comfortable sleeping position and kiss the back of his hand. "I was going to say 'go back to sleep'."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Armchair linguistics at work again. Spellcheck hates me, now. Hope it doesn't take away from the smut :-) Enjoy!

* * *

We get a quiet evening in bed where we're lying together on our sides facing each other, just enjoying the proximity of our bodies. I smile to myself; Spock traces my lips with his index finger. "What are you thinking, _aitlun-veh_?"

"I was thinking about just how deficient my linguistic skills are," I muse.

"Very deficient," he adds. He can't help himself, really.

I let it slide. "Well, until recently, I've only ever conversed in Vulcan in class, and that was years ago. I never thought I'd use it, and certainly not in this setting." I trace the lines in his palm with my fingertips. "I'm sure I could use a vocabulary reinforcement...say, on anatomy?"

"You did not receive instruction on it at the Academy?"

"Oh, I did, but I forgot most of it." I trace his jaw with my index finger. "I don't think my professor could be as thorough as you."

Flattery gets you everywhere with Spock. Just don't expect to see it on his face or admit to it. "It is a logical request. I shall accommodate it."

I reach up and thread my fingers through his black, silken strands, enjoying the feel of it. I now know how pointless it is to try to muss it.

"_Isachya_," Spock says gently. "_Nam-tor nash-vel isachya t'nash-veh_." _This is my hair_.

"_Isachya_. 'Hair'."

"_Maut rom_." _Very good_.

I frame his face with both my hands, caressing his angular cheekbones, tracing his jaw line. "_Limuk_." I repeat the word and he gives me a look of approval. I continue, slightly grazing the pads of my thumbs across his closed eyelids. "_Bezhun_." He knows I'm indicating his eyes.

"_Bezhun_," I say and add, "_Vaksur-bezhun t'du_." _Your beautiful eyes_.

"_Nemaiyo_." _Thank you_.

I follow the upswept lines of his eyebrows. "_Bezhun-zehl_." I give the shells of his pointed ears the slightest touch. "_Kaluk-lar_," he sighs. I run a single finger down the front of his nose. "_Han_." I trace his soft, remarkably pink lips. "_Bru-lar_." He lets me slip my finger inside his mouth and gently applies suction as I pull it out. "_Ru-lut_," he says.

"_Ru-lut_," I repeat. "'Mouth'?"

"_Ha_."

I smile at that. "_Ru-lut. Taurauk ru-lut t'du_." _Your amazing mouth_.

"_Taura-ru-lut_," Spock corrects and continues, touching his tongue to his upper lip briefly before adding, "_Lahv_."

"_Lahv. Weh-taura-lahv t'du_," I purr. _Your more amazing tongue. _He gives me a slightly disapproving look for my teasing and I add, "Can't help it."

He continues the lesson; he bares his teeth and says, "_Aifa zud-lar t'nash-veh._" _These are my teeth_.

The anatomy lesson continues with me roaming Spock's body with my hands, Spock telling me the word for the part touched, and me repeating the word: _talu_ for neck, _tuf_ for chest, _tipan_ for shoulders, _kar_ for arms, _kar-nef_ for elbows, _kar-nik_ for wrists. When I caress the back of his hand, his voice softens as he says, "_El'ru_." I slide my fingers against his, and he breathes, "_Ozh-lar_." He interlocks his fingers with mine and when we press our palms together I feel tingling warmth that's sensational every time.

We remain like that for a moment before Spock brushes his lips against the back of my hand, then places it on his lean, tight abdomen. "_Feshek_." I slide my hand around and let it trail up and down his back. "_Pla'dor_."

My lips curl upward as I press my body against his and move my hand slowly down his lower back and cup his firm buttocks.

Spock's breath hitches when I give him a little squeeze. "_Lanet_," he exhales.

"Mm, and what a nice one it is," I murmur after repeating the word.

"_Kloshah'uh_," the Vulcan says in a slightly admonishing tone. When I respond with a slightly confused look he gives me the meaning in English. "Behave." I feign a pout and he kisses my forehead. "_Nash-veh shok wimish_," he murmurs. _This is called a kiss_. "_Vesht shok-tor fa-patam t'du_." _I kissed your forehead._

I bring my lips closer to his. "_Va'ashiv shok'voh tu nash-veh_." _Kiss me again_.

He shakes his head. "_Dungi ri tor nash-veh_." _I will not_. He's been around humans like me too long.

I frame Spock's hip. "_Gaf_." I follow its line in gingerly, making little patterns in the thicket of hairs with my fingertips. I meet his gaze; I love watching his face when I touch him there. I watch his eyes close and his lips part as I gently wrap my fingers round his stiffening cock. I always revel in the knowledge that I can make Spock hard. He looks down between us and back up at my face, and the amount of intensity I see in his eyes steals my breath. "_Lok_," he whispers as I give him a gentle stroke. I brush my lips against his before I say it softly. He takes his hand, covers mine and guides my fingers to his scrotum, lets me feel his testicles. "_Sakal_," he says as he places my hand on his thigh.

I repeat and remark, "Much more eloquent than 'balls'."

"Indeed." He's determined to finish what I started; he's quite singularly minded. He brings his leg up, rests it on my hip, and we resume the touch-name-reply litany: _abru-mal_ for thigh, _mal-nef_ for knee, _vaukh_ for calf, _ne-mal_ for shin, _mal_ for leg, _mal-nik f_or ankle, _ash'ya_ for foot, _gof-lar _for toes.

I take his hands and place them on my breasts. "_Aifa wimish ra._" _What are these called_?

Spock simply responds, "_T'nash-veh_." I laugh as he slides his hand between my thighs. "_T'nash-veh_," he repeats. _Mine_. He brings his lips close to mine. "_Du kosu t'nash-veh_." _You are mine_. His kiss tells me here ends the lesson.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N**: My humblest apologies for the delay. I hope you had a great holiday season. I meant to submit this before the end of the year because the next two chapters are holiday-themed, but between moving and finishing up the semester, I didn't quite make it. I do hope you enjoy it, though. And thank you so much for reviewing and sticking with the story. Okay, I've held you up enough.

* * *

"I hope you'll forgive me," I say as I put the last pins in to secure my updo. "I know you like my hair down, but this is a special occasion." The _Enterprise_ arrives at Rigel VII to drop off supplies to the new Embassy just in time for the crew to celebrate Christmas with the staff and colonists. The Federation Ambassador even offers guest quarters in one of the great old castles to the crew; mine is adjacent to Spock's and sadly will not be in use. His, however, is rather sumptuous.

"You cannot give offense where there is none to take." Spock places a warm hand on the shoulder of my dress uniform. "And you could never give offense where your appearance is concerned."

I turn around as I'm putting in ruby drop earrings to look at the Vulcan in his dress jacket. I decide to tell him what I wanted to say back during the court-martial proceedings: "You look amazing. It may be illogical to tell you something you already know, but...damn, Spock. _Damn_."

Spock's expression remains neutral. "You will never cease to be illogical, will you?"

"No. And you love it." I place two fingers on his lips when he begins to protest. "It's the holidays, Spock. Try to be full of good cheer." I plant a kiss on his cheek. "I'm off to collect Christine. See you at the par-"

He takes my arm and firmly turns me against him. "That is not an acceptable parting, _aitlun-veh_."

I grin and press my fingers against his and he pulls me into a full kiss.

"That is much improved."

* * *

The Embassy staff did a fine job of festooning the great hall of the former castle with green garlands, red ribbons, and lights. Barring access to suitable conifers means the ratana tree growing in the courtyard has to stand in as a Christmas tree. The mass of Starfleet personnel in their satiny garb and velvet-trimmed civilians moving about to music puts a smile on my face. Beats the science lab.

Before the meal is served I'm introduced to Ambassador Wolfe by Captain Kirk; we make a brief conversation about how far along the settlement process is while Kirk, Spock, and McCoy observe. I don't know if it's intentional, but in appearance and mannerisms he seems a red velvet suit short of being Father Christmas. I know Kirk's going to ask for a psychological assessment later. I suspect he really wants to know how many buttons he can push on a Federation suit. After the Ambassador excuses himself I tell the Trio he's rather pleasant for a diplomat, but that could be because of the season. "I'm afraid he's too polite for more stimulating conversation, gentlemen," I say. Kirk dismisses me, and I return to my chats with the Medical crew.

At the table I sit flanked by Chapel and Uhura, across from Chekov, who's regaling me with the Russian origin of Father Christmas. It's charming, really, and Uhura tells me it's working well with an ensign in Engineering. Well, let him keep his delusion. It's the holidays.

After a group of colonists do decent renditions of _Carol of the Bells_, _The Twelve Days of Christmas_, and _Red Saturnalia_ (my personal favourite, being a Martian), Uhura sings _I'll Be Home for Christmas_ and brings the house down when Spock accompanies her with the _ka'athyra_ on the ballad _A Season Amongst the Stars_. The Vulcan has a pleasant look on his face when he's playing, and he makes his appreciation for Uhura's lovely voice clear. I smile to myself, remembering what I said that first night with the ladies. Spock's features _are_ almost elfin. I'd better bury that thought deep if I intend to get into his pants again...

* * *

"I don't get it," McCoy says to me as we're watching the majority of the crew mingle and dance. "You have more Christmas spirit than Santa Claus himself," he says, adding a point towards Ambassador Wolfe. "What gives?"

"I love a party, Leonard."

"Well, how about that? You're _not_ all work and no play. Thank God Spock didn't rub off on you during those crew evaluations."

I stick my tongue in my cheek before responding. Way too easy. "Right. How about a dance?"

"Now, I don't know what the etiquette is on Mars, but where I come from, the gentleman asks the lady for a dance." I feign a sad pout, and he adds, "Oh, all right. I have a terrible weakness for a beautiful woman."

I take his hand with a winsome grin. "Physician, heal thyself."

I take my turns on the floor with Scott and Sulu, but my favourite partner is Lieutenant Ikeda because I spend enough time practicing aikido with him, we know each other's sense of movement. I know Spock's too occupied conversing with Kirk and Ambassador Wolfe to show any obvious attention-not that he would if he wasn't. But I know he's thinking about me and makes minute observations.

I steal a moment of solitude and look out at the night sky on a secluded balcony, gazing up at the large moon in the violet sky. For the first time in a long time I can say things are good for me. What was it I told Chapel about hopeless romantics and lonely moons? I smile at myself at that first conversation; it seems so long ago and so much has happened that I can tell her my theory is dead wrong.

"Breathtaking." The voice takes me out of my reverie and I turn to face its owner.

I smile cordially and reply, "Indeed it is, Captain." I have to admit my statement has a double meaning as well. "They're going to miss you downstairs, sir."

"I missed you downstairs. Can't I have time to have a nice conversation with one of my crew?" Kirk stands next to me, facing me. Maybe the eggnog's really good here.

"I suppose there's no harm in that." I continue to look ahead.

"Are you alright, Doctor?"

"I'm just fine, sir. Everything is just fine tonight." I look back at Kirk, at how his green dress jacket brings out his hazel eyes. "You truly are master of all you survey when you're up there in the _Enterprise_, aren't you?"

Kirk smiles, leans his head slightly towards me. "I have never said it so eloquently." It's not the eggnog.

"Have you thought about what you will do when the mission is over and you'll have to give her to someone else?"

"I try to stay in the moment, Celeste." He's not being overtly friendly with his familiarity; he's telling me he's resuming the game. "Have you thought about what you're going to do when you get reassigned?"

I give him a slight shrug. "I'll do what I always do, sir. Carry on with my work."

"You know Spock will end up in command of his own ship."

"Unless you need him. Then he'll stay with you."

"What will you do when he has to leave you?"

I look up to the right for an answer, then smile without showing teeth when I have it. "I try to stay in the moment." I attempt a subject change, sighing and turning towards the window. "They don't have skies like this on Mars."

"No, but what they used to have is just as beautiful. Certainly Starfleet's gain."

Oh, how cute. I raise my eyebrow. "Compliment or fishing expedition, Captain?"

Kirk takes a half step toward me, and I take a half-step back. "Both."

I clear my throat. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Always. My gift to you." He keeps his tone pleasant. "I'll even allow you to call me Jim, although I know you won't."

I give him a slight nod before continuing. "Did you ever consider you left it too long?"

Kirk looks out toward the sky before looking back at me, softening his voice. "I thought there would always be more time." I look at him, at the sadness within. "Don't," he adds, the familiar air of an apex predator returning to his countenance.

I shake my head. "Oh, I wasn't going to, sir. You don't deserve it anymore than I do." Offering pity's not my thing.

"Good. We understand each other." He places his hand on the balcony, keeping his eyes on me.

Gods, it's like approaching the event horizon of a black hole with him. I give him a half-smile. "Y'know what, Captain? I think you enjoy this. Needling me because you know you can't needle him the way you want. The subterfuge excites you."

Kirk ripostes, and I can see in his eyes I've played into his hands. "It excites you too. You like knowing something the rest of the crew doesn't. I bet you sit at your game with the women on Tuesdays and smile to yourself, aroused at the fact that they don't know." He grins, and I know better not to be deceived by it, but not by much. "There's something exciting about having something to hide."

I narrow my eyes and lower my voice, coming from instinct rather than a superior position. "I suppose it's no different than what you do every day on the bridge. How you sit in that chair, turn your golden head, and exchange glances with him-"

"Are we going to pretend that's from your position of expertise, Doctor?"

I have no comeback for that. I lower my chin and turn my face slightly away. "Sir, I mean no-"

Kirk cuts in again, and he takes a softer approach. "Does he make you feel-"

"He makes me _feel_, sir. For both of us."

He comes closer, and I don't back away. "I'm guessing that wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so...human? That doesn't sound like a 'purely physical relationship' to me."

I avert my eyes and intensify my gaze as I look back up at him. "I'm human enough. Aren't you, Captain?"

Kirk places his hand on my shoulder, and I'm surprised his touch is noticeably cooler to me. "There's something in being human. To be touched without feeling branded, to receive an unfiltered, genuine emotion without shame, to keep your thoughts, to be more than a lover, a possession, a...fascination. To hear three little meaningful words-"

"Overrated, sir." I cross my arms and add, "That's just as foreign to you as it is to Spock, maybe even more so. How is it that I can sense more humanity in an alien and doubt the sincerity of my own kind?"

"You don't trust me, Celeste?" He's toying with me again. He expects me to say no.

I exceed his expectations. "Captain, I absolutely trust you to be absolutely human."

He places his other hand on my shoulder and leans in to say in my ear, "My heart beats where yours does."

Stunned by his statement, I look at him fully and place my hands on his arms. I'm dangerously close to him, and I see something in this man few have ever seen. Maybe it's a ploy, but I doubt it. There's a commonality there I don't like to face. This is what I'm afraid of, what makes me want to run when I see him. It's also what makes me want to stay and give in. My lips part; my mouth softens. I didn't think this all the way through when I got involved with Spock. Okay, I'm lying. I did. I just had no idea that Kirk is so deeply invested he's willing to go for one degree of separation. His gaze is getting to be a bit much. I need to veer off, and I do with an icy glare. "Damn you, sir. He's your number one."

I turn away from Kirk to see Spock just arrived up the stairs. I don't know how much he's seen, but his eyes tell me he's seen something. I force a smile and greet him cordially. "Commander, I..." I'm not thinking clearly enough to finish my statement.

"Captain, the Ambassador requests your presence." Spock shows me how to master a poker face as he turns his attention back to me. "Doctor."

Kirk moves from behind me towards the stairs. "Duty calls, Doctor."

I'm silently thanking the gods. "I do wish you-_both_ of you-a merry Christmas," I say as Kirk motions to Spock to accompany him downstairs. I'm out of parting shots.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Doctor." He grins before placing a hand on his first officer's shoulder for brief moment. "C'mon, Spock."

I wait for them to leave before I make a hasty exit. I've had enough excitement for one evening. Well, hardly enough. A discussion with Spock is inevitable. So is a reckoning, but it won't be tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

I breathe a sigh of relief as the doors to the guest quarters close behind me. I look out the large window as I hum to distract myself as I remove my uniform and slip into something more aesthetically pleasing. I'm in an apologetic, giving mood.

I hear the doors again while I'm in the dressing area, and I know it's Spock. I hear him put his lyre away and open and close a drawer. "No peeking," I say as I don a pair of clear-heeled shoes.

"I have seen you in various states of undress before, Celeste," he replies. "I am sure the sight of you, while always beguiling, will be no... less..."

That's the desired effect. My gown-if you could call it that-is naught but a strip of satiny, soft but firm violet fabric tied and draped from the left shoulder, crossing and supporting the breasts, curving around the right side and resting on the left hip and attached to a flowing full skirt. My regards to a rather skilled Rigelian seamstress. I offer him a serene half-smile as I approach him, holding a small box. "Is it to your liking?"

Both of Spock's eyebrows are raised, and his eyes are bright as he gives me a final once-over. "Affirmative." He raises two of his fingers on his free hand, and I press my fingers against them, noticing the wrapped rectangular object in his other hand. "Please accompany me to the couch." He leads me by his fingers and as I sit he leans slightly towards me. He takes my box and places it and his on the table. He slides his fingers along mines. "I wished to have this moment with you during the entire course of this evening."

"Me, too." I tilt my head slightly because there's something on my mind and I'm checking his face for any indicators, anything that would convey his thoughts about what he saw on the balcony earlier. I don't want to ruin the festive mood, but I know this is going to eat at me and I don't want Spock probing my mind for it. "You may never admit it, but I know how much Captain Kirk means to you."

Spock turns his head away at the mention of the name and sits straight up. I can see a bit of tension on his pressed lips. That's as close of a response as I'm going to get on that subject.

I continue. "I'd be a fool to get in the way of that, so what you saw earlier-"

"I am aware that the relationship with you and the captain is professional," Spock says, stealing my thunder. "I am also aware of his propensity to-"

"Oh, please," I scoff. "I know the man's a rake. His reputation precedes him."

"The proximity of your bodies was...uncomfortably close." He turns back to me, lets me see the dark glint in his gaze.

I try to affect nonchalance in tone of voice. "Yeah, it was. And-dammit, you're doing it again, using my emotions to deflect." I know I failed, so I sigh in defeat, adding, "Look, I can't say that I don't find Captain Kirk...mesmerizing and that every thought I have of him is pure." I cup Spock's chin when he begins to look away again, and I begin the amelioration process. "But he could never captivate me the way you do." I've never been more honest. "I am here with you because this is where I want to be."

Spock looks into my eyes, probing, silently searching for duplicity. When he finds none he caresses my cheek. "It pleases me to hear you say that, _aitlun-veh_."

I close my eyes and lean into his palm before kissing it, looking over at the boxes on the table. "You didn't have to give me a present."

"Neither did you," Spock replies as he hands me the wrapped object. "Nevertheless, these items are here. I wish you to be pleased with my offering."

"I see no logical reason why I should not be." I peel off the paper and extract a thick book bound and folded in simulated brown leather. I take a brief glance at him as I open the gold filigree latch and pull back the flap. "An English translation of _Falor's Journey_," I say with a smile. Only the Vulcans could create an epic poem about a far-reaching quest and make enlightenment beautiful. I'm secretly glad it's not _The Teachings of Surak_ because I already have a copy collecting dust in my office. I press the button on the inside of the flap and am delighted to hear a recording of Spock singing the accompanying song and playing the Vulcan lute. It's the first time I hear him sing, which is a pity because he has the voice for it. I switch the recording off, close the book and take his hand in mines. "Oh, Spock, it's gorgeous. I love it. Thank you."

The Vulcan gives me a single nod of gratitude and picks up my smaller box. He unwraps it gently and opens it. He raises his eyebrow at the brushed steel cube, not quite able to hide his befuddlement. I tap the top of the cube, and a four-dimensional image of Earth's moon levitates over it.

"It's Luna," I say as I use my finger to rotate and spin the image. "Holographic technology is the next big thing, apparently. The things they can do with photons." I wave my hand over the image and it displays the phases of a lunar eclipse. "Now you'll always have a moon."

Spock takes a moment to observe the holoimage. "Fascinating. I have seen holographic projections, but...not with the level of detail of this device." He taps the cube, switching off the image. "I appreciate the gift," he says, bringing his fingers under my chin.

"Y'know, Spock, there's another present you can unwrap," I say, beholding every delectable inch of his form. My fingers are already slipped beneath the gold cord of his dress jacket, unfastening it, giving my mouth access to his throat. It's such a bestowal, the taste and feel of the skin covering his neck.

"There is...hardly enough material...t-to classify it...as sufficient...'wrapping'," he replies as he trails his fingers up and down my spine. As he places his arm under my knees, lifts me and carries me to the bed he adds, "Permit me to display my appreciation in receipt of such an amazing gift."

I roll my eyes in jest as he lays me down on the cloud-soft surface. "I know holographic projection cubes are neat, but-"

"I am speaking of you, _aitlun-veh_," Spock replies, cradling the back of my head as he kisses me tenderly, fully. "_Tan t'nash-veh_." _My gift_.

I sit up and he with me. He unpins my hair, catching the strands between his fingers as they fall. My lips curl as I reach for his jacket. "I haven't finished unwrapping mine."

We seem to interrupt the process of divesting each other of our garments because we want to stroke and taste every inch of flesh we expose. Spock has me naked and beneath him, hands locked to mine, and he stops kissing my mouth and neck to look in my eyes, and I see bliss. And are those slightly upturned lips? This, this moment, is just for me, and it fills me with rapture.

And that's before he employs that truly ambrosial mouth of his on my body. He takes his time, stretches it like algae taffy. It's no longer tortuous to wait; it's an opportunity to engage him using all of my senses. With mouth and hands he orchestrates a euphoric crescendo that makes me arch, undulate, and cry out in adulation.

Spock sits cross-legged in a modified lotus position, back supported by pillows against the headboard. I climb into his lap, wrapping my legs round him, mounting him. He kisses me, breathes me in as he caresses my cheek, moves inside me at his usual slow pace. His hands are everywhere they can possibly be.

I smile as I trace his pointed ears with my fingers and take in the scent of his hair while he kisses my neck, follows my collarbone with his tongue. I like the friction of my nipples against his chest as we move together. "My body to yours," I breathe.

Those brown eyes are aflame. "My mind to yours." He places his hand in position on my face.

"I know what you know."

"I feel what you feel."

We're in unison, connected. "Our minds...are one..."

There's Spock and me, yet there isn't. Energy flows from me into him and back into me, a glowing ouroboros threatening to incinerate us. No start or end point; a blend of emotions, consciousness, beatitudes. Each touch, each kiss, each breath, each thrust and squeeze we can feel in every lit fiber of our beings as the current passes, heats up, changes colour. And Spock is with me, inside me, through me. The fusing of minds, the yab-yum position, the sight, taste, and smell of him, no, me, no, _us_ fueling an exquisite passion...it's almost causing an existential crisis.

When it gets to be too much Spock takes my hand into his and I make my exaltation known; I cry out his name and my body seizes up as I let it all go. Spock lets his be known as well, finding refuge for his moans in the crook of my neck and shoulder. It's familiar to me now, feeling the reverberations of his voice go through me, prolonging my release.

Spock eases me out of the link, but we're both left trembling. He gets my lower extremities underneath the thick blankets on the bed. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and stretch out, absolutely knackered, making use of the space it affords whilst Spock props himself up on his side to look at me.

As I'm about to drift off to sleep I am witness to an extremely rare event and are dazzled by it for a few seconds. I don't believe it, so I reach out and outline the dimple in his left cheek with my fingertip, follow the curve of his bottom lip with my thumb. Damn if he doesn't look impish. "I was right," I say, trying to match his grin. "You do have a gorgeous smile."

And just like that it's gone, dissolved back into his familiar neutral countenance. "I know not of which you speak, _aitlun-veh_."

I nod, very aware of the rules. "Indeed. Still, it's the best gift anyone's ever given me, Spock." I sigh as I let a wave of contentment wash over me as Spock envelops me with his arms, his warmth. I wonder when I'm going to stop lying to myself and admit this stopped being just sex ages ago, acknowledge that it never was on Spock's behalf. Part of me imagines this is what Icarus felt as he basked in the sun mid-flight, unaware of the melting wax. It's that part that keeps me awake for a little bit longer.


	20. Chapter 20

My hands brush golden stalks as I walk next to him through a field on some agrarian planet. I feel the west wind move across me much like a lover. I can't discern if the scent it's carrying is of wheat or barley, but it's some type of golden grain. It's carrying a tune from afar, a plucked stringed instrument. I face him to gaze awhile. I smile, and as I fall into his arms, my hair brushes his shoulders. I close my eyes as he lays me down and I bask in the warmth of the sun, which competes with the warmth of his touch. It fails and even the sky seems jealous. He's with me, his hands on my exposed skin with their long, slender fingers. He'll stay with me, he'll love me right here in this field. My body moves as he kisses my mouth. It's familiar...but not familiar. My eyes are still closed as he unzips my uniform. I turn my head to the side as he kisses my neck. Again, familiar, but a bit off. "Oh, Spock."

I'm rewarded with laughter. I know whose it is, and it's not Spock's. I open my eyes to discover the hand beside my shoulder does not have a slight green tint and it's sleeved in mustard yellow instead of blue. I catch my breath and turn to see Kirk's face...

It's pitch black. I can't see, but I can feel. Feel the touch turn into a movement of scales. Feel the slithering mass of thin bodies beneath me, covering me. Feel constriction on my limbs, my neck.

I scream bloody murder as the snakes constrict me, consume me...

I sit up in bed, sweating. My quarters seem alien and cold to me now. I hate it when Spock's on the away team.

* * *

I get hot water from the mess for my large coffee press and a blueberry scone in deference to my absent Vulcan. I can justify the caffeine boost; I couldn't put myself down after the nightmare. I spent the rest of my off time meditating to ground myself and staring out the observation deck porthole at Sherman's Planet and Deep Space Station K-7 until planet dawn. The _Enterprise_ is tasked with escorting the new shipment of quadrotriticale as well as check on the colonists' health and well-being; the Trio has been planetside for six solar days. I think everything is progressing as planned, but I don't know for sure. I feel the vestiges of Spock's 'presence' in my mind slipping away.

I see a yeoman carrying a tray of cups and a coffee flask from the replicator. "That going to the bridge?"

"Yes, Doctor."

I give her a wry grin. I have an idea to assuage my fears. "I can look after that for you."

* * *

I enter the bridge and set an empty cup on the arm of the captain's chair and pour from my press before Scott can utter a word. "You should taste this, Commander. Mons Olympus Peaberry-beats the replicator's crap every time."

Scott keeps his eyes on the view screen as he picks up the cup and takes a sip, turning the chair slightly towards me. "Mmm, not bad for coffee. Thank you-what are _you_ doin' on the bridge?" Scott's a stickler for keeping non-essential personnel off the bridge when he's acting captain, and after that Redjac business? Well, the less said, the better when it comes to his opinion of mental health professionals. But I'm a female, so it balances out well enough.

"Thought I'd give the yeoman a break and give you some real coffee, sir." I pour a cup for Sulu; Chekov and Uhura decline. I give a wistful glance at the science officer's station as I ask, "So...has the Away Team check-"

"Missed it by a minute," Scott interjects. He gestures you close with his fingers, then lowers his voice to add, "Now, lassie, I know you're concerned about your boss Doctor McCoy being down there an' the possibility of Klingons being about. But he, the captain, Mr. Spock an' the rest of the team will be back before you know it. In the meantime, we all have duties to perform. Yours is down in your office, not here playing air hostess."

I sigh and concede. "True." Scott's doing his job and I can't fault him for that. My schedule's light today; when ship status is heightened the crew work longer shifts and the sessions get postponed or cancelled. Honestly, I would not think to be on the bridge, but this is an extenuating circumstance, at least to me. I try a different route. "Commander, you seem a bit stressed. Perhaps I could stick around and offer-"

"Off with ye, Doctor," Scott says as he stands up to check the readings from the helm's computers. "Be a dearie and leave the coffee, would you?"

* * *

I look up from my notes when I hear the door. The brogue at the other end gives the identity away, and I let Scott in. He has an easier demeanour when puts the empty and cleaned press on my desk. "Here's your pot."

"Thanks, Commander." I smile broadly at the gesture of kindness.

He matches my smile. "I dinnae mean to be cross with you, lassie. I just cannae have you on ma bridge."

I nod in agreement. "I understand."

"But you're welcome to bring a pot of your coffee down to Engineering."

"Hangover remedy?" I feign a pointed look.

Scott grins with a bit of mischief in his brown eyes. "Aye."

"Just say the word." I lean towards the side of the chair and point at him. "But you're going to have to come up here to get it," I add with a wink. I prepare to get back to work when I realize I've overlooked a major detail: "Wait, shouldn't you be in the captain's chair right now?"

"As the captain's back in it, no." He stops before leaving. "I thought you'd like to know the Away Team's returned all in one piece."

* * *

With all of the debriefings, medical screenings, and log entries, I know I won't have any alone time with the first officer immediately, so I make an effort to carry on with my day, eating with Chapel and listening to her pass on McCoy's account of what happened down on the surface and how she had spent her day working on charts and preparing hypos. I decide to turn in early, the blend of insomnia and anticipation taking a physical toll. I'm only human.

I'm barely registering I'm walking down the corridor from the officer's mess to the turbolift until the doors open and I have to suppress a smile at the sight. "Glad to see you're back, Commander," I say as I enter.

"Doctor," Spock answers, nonplussed as ever. He keeps his hands behind him as I grab the handle, call out my floor, and face the closing doors. I know if I look at him, I'll want to stop the lift and... Strange how the most vivid thoughts are in my head now; I'm sure I'm assisted by the Vulcan behind me. My carotid artery pulses as I can almost sense his breath against it, can almost heel his lips follow suit...

It's Spock that stops the lift. I jump when he places his hand on my shoulder. I strain to hear over my heartbeat as he slides his hand down my arm and slides his fingers between mine. He turns me around, encircles me, lifts me off my feet to close the height discrepancy, and displays his desire in his kiss. It's such a sudden and pleasant surprise; I embrace him, lean into him. He breaks the kiss, and I want to cry, but I manage to keep my wits about me. "I missed you too."

"I am needed on the bridge." Spock offers it as a soft apology, releasing me, standing me up straight. "And you need to rest. You are fatigued."

I stifle a yawn before protesting, "No, I have my third wind. I don't even think I can sleep now-"

"I assure you there will be time for us, _aitlun-veh_." He places his hand back on the handle to get the lift moving again. "Retire to my quarters. I shall join you shortly."

The doors open before I can offer the Vulcan a reply. I step out and head down the corridor. Each step towards his quarters increases the intensity of my anticipation, distills my ache. But once I'm in the familiar setting of his quarters, I'm practically on autopilot. I take my clothes off, and slip under the light sheets of his bed, trying to be content with the lingering scent of his hair on the pillow. Sleep does win out, eventually.

* * *

I don't hear him enter. Nor do I hear him disrobe. But I do feel his warm fingers brush errant hairs from my face and trace my lips. "I'm dreaming," I murmur.

"Although lucid dreaming exists and is well-documented, I find your statement to be dubious at best," Spock replies as he caresses my shoulder.

I open my eyes at that and smile. He's definitely back. "Better than a pinch." I blink until I can focus on his glorious naked form standing over me.

He pulls the sheets down, exposing me, and he takes me in slowly. "I had envisioned this while I was away. Please allow me to demonstrate my delight at being in your presence once ag-"

"Oh, get **on** with it, Spock!"

He complies, kissing me like he did in the lift, like he's not sure if he'll have another opportunity. He stops only to explore the rest of my body. I take to him as if famished-clutching his hair and ears as he kisses and sucks my nipples, devouring his flesh as he cards through my hair and breathes heavily. It's as if...as if...

As if we owe each other for six nights of neglect.

He has me on elbows and knees, and I can do naught but feel when he brings his head underneath and licks me because my brain's overloaded with the task of processing pleasure. When he decides I've come enough via his mouth, he pins my still-trembling body beneath him and takes me slowly, thoroughly. There isn't a part of me he couldn't touch, couldn't access, couldn't claim. In return I get him like this-besotted, bewitched. This is the effect I have on this Vulcan, and it's _genuine_.

I never seem to build a tolerance for the sensation that runs through me when he holds my hand. He leaves the other free to snake his arm round me to keep me close. It's too much to keep inside. I cry out his name when I come, digging the fingers of my free hand in his shoulder. He goes stock-still, keeps me close as I come down. My breathing normalises, and he brushes his lips against mine. "You should go away more often," I jest.

Spock does not jest. "There is a high probability that I shall. I am the first officer." He sits up, and I can see five green lines on his shoulder blade.

"Oh, Spock," I gasp. I sit up and take a closer look at what my fingernails have wrought. "I'm sorry." I notice the lack of scarring elsewhere despite having an idea of what he's been through. I figure it's another advantage of Vulcan physiology. I kiss the scratches more for my benefit than Spock's. The taste of copper is more pronounced.

Spock turns to face me. "Celeste, why do you engage in a most peculiar human superstition? It is illogical to assume that kissing my wound will heal it."

I shrug. "Why do humans do anything illogical?"

"I cannot-"

"Rhetorical question," I interject. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes," he replies. "Vulcans do not express pain."

"Right. Well, it's superficial, but I do feel bad about marking you up." I lie on my belly in my usual little corner of the bed, burying my face in my pillow.

"You have not caused me grievous bodily harm, and your intent was not malicious. Your emotional reaction is not equal to the offense," Spock says, tracing my spine with his fingertips. The act makes him change the subject. "I once told a fellow Vulcan that having is not as good as wanting. I find myself in error."

I face him with a raised eyebrow. "Who are you and what have you done to Mr. Spock?"

He's a bit taken aback. "I do not understand the logic behind your query and am unable to provide a suitable answer."

I shake my head and offer mirthfully, "Don't ever change." This adds to his confusion, so I get serious and add, "Okay. What's on your mind?"

"I said that to a Vulcan when he wanted a female once betrothed to me," he says, using his pillow to support his back as he sits. "When I won the right to claim her, I released her to him." I turn on my side and he strokes my hair as he continues. "I am no longer fettered by a link of betrothal."

I give him a slow nod. "That's good to know. I don't poach."

Spock continues, "I said it was illogical, but often true. But it is not true in this circumstance. I want you. I have you. Yet the having feeds the wanting. Did your mate experience this?"

I prop myself up on my elbows and cock my head to the side, bemused. "What a strange question to ask."

"Personal moments are appropriate for personal questions."

"Touché." I was afraid that statement was going to be fed back to me.

Spock will not be distracted from the subject at hand. "A majority of the Martian population from Cydonia do not believe their marriages end when they die. They believe their gods seal them together from one life to the next."

"Well according to the law in this life, seals can be broken, Spock. I'm more pragmatic than devout." I see he's aware I haven't answered his question. I frown a bit before I do. "My ex-husband wanted me, yes, but he wanted an ideal of me, not as I was. Not as I am."

"That is not a logical approach. Ideals are often unattainable."

"Humans don't see that, especially when we're full of passion and youth and envision shaping the future."

"I am grateful your husband did not properly assess your true value."

"You say the damnedest things, Vulcan." I kiss him as a reward. "Felix is in my past. We call it 'the past' because we're meant to get past it. I find pleasure in what's in front of me right here, right now."

Spock gently cups my chin. "Please believe that I am mindful of what exists in the present, and I am most grateful, _aitlun-veh_. But I do think ahead."

I think I feel something sleek move against my elbow, but it's just my mind playing tricks on me, catching up with what I think Spock's whole point is. "'Ahead' does not look like me resigning my commission and ending up on Vulcan waiting every seven years for you, does it?"

"Celeste, it would be illogical for me to assume you would become a typical Vulcan wife. I would not desire it." He softens his voice by a fraction. "And I do not wish to be bereft of you for seven years. I experience discomfort at being without you for seven point one-three days."

"Indeed," I say, looking down at my elbows before my return my gaze to his. "Spock, let me be clear. I do not intend to remarry." I lie on my side, reaching my hand across him to lace my fingers with his. "Our roads merge now, but that will not always be the case. It's the life we choose. Is there an 'ahead' for us? I'm not sure, and it's pointless to try to forecast it." When he begins to look away I bring my hand to his cheek and hold his attention. "What I _do_ know for sure is that you've certainly left an indelible mark on me, Spock, and if we could live forever Sol will burn out long before I stop wanting you. I want to spend every moment I can with you, even if I have to steal them. Can you be content with that?"

Spock responds by collecting me in his lap and cupping my face in his hands. "Yes."

"Good. Well, then, as they say in the mining colony on Callisto, 'less conversatin', more copulatin'.'"

* * *

**A/N**: The first paragraph is heavily inspired by a work of Gordon Sumner, also known as Sting. It was stuck in my head as I did this draft.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:**

Dear reader:

This chapter is a _doozy_. I almost didn't publish it because it's so different from what you've come to expect. It's a fantasy framed in the mirror universe so there's some OOC behaviour involved. There's dominance and submission, and one sentence involving some female on female action. It was in me and needed to come out, I guess. It was much, much darker in the beginning, and I may spin this off because there's more that just wouldn't fit in this story. So if these themes are not your cup of tea, just skip over the sections with a **(***)** at the beginning and end and you should still be able to enjoy the chapter. I do hope you continue to stick with the story and let me know what you think.

* * *

There's something comforting about possessing a routine. I resume my clinical sessions with Spock; I run tests and he explains some of the mental states Vulcans implement and shares with me his methods of meditation. I record my notes and set some time aside to speak with Doctor M'Benga, back from a temporary assignment.

We keep our game on Tuesdays, even finding a new player in helm officer Lieutenant Radha. I keep my other activities as well, understanding the importance of keeping order to the time I've been given.

Because when I'm with Spock at the end and beginning of our days, time gets away, doesn't act right, becomes elongated and contracted. Time yields to give and take, to feeling. I've come to think that one of the best sensations in the known universe is being cocooned by Spock's body heat before slipping into sleep; one of the worst is having to get up to leave his side and enter the coldness of the rest of the ship.

One morning, I'm startled by Uhura's voice calling my name as I leave Spock's quarters. I turn and greet the comely communications officer with a grin. "Good morning, Nyota. On the way to the bridge?"

"I was going to stop at the officer's mess for breakfast-"

"Good. I'll join you. Need my coffee." I'm attempting to make this encounter about as normal as it can get in the hopes I don't have to offer an explanation.

I fail. "I noticed you're coming from Mr. Spock's quarters."

I give her a slight shrug. "Ah, that. Well, the commander's teaching me a method of meditation. First thing in the morning's perfect for it-gets one in a good mindset. Could be a useful tool for therapy."

We enter the turbolift and Uhura continues. "It seems this 'meditation' has given you quite a glow."

"Oh, Nyota. You don't think..." I stop myself in an effort to make the thought seem absurd to me. I offer an easy laugh and add, "This is Commander Spock we're talking about."

"Indeed we are, Counselor."

I take the hand off the turbolift control, stopping the car. I look at her and there's a clarity, an understanding between women that have something in common. "The _ka'athyra_ lessons. Of course. How could he resist you?"

Uhura cocks her head to one side. "It was very brief. I felt lonely after that first year, especially not having Janice to talk to. And Spock was...curious." She sighs as if she's lifted a burden. "It got to be too hard, for both of us. So much has happened, a romance just couldn't survive."

"I'm so sorry, Nyota."

"You don't have to apologize, Celeste. I'm not remorseful. I have no regrets. Ending it wasn't the worst I've been through. I get on that bridge every day secure in the knowledge that things are as they should be."

I don't have a reply to something so sound. I think she's a tough act to follow; I can't help but feel a little inadequate at the moment. I just nod and reactivate the lift.

Uhura seems to know what I'm thinking and offers reassurance. "As women on this ship are concerned, you're the best choice for him."

"Thanks, Nyota, but don't tell Christine that. She's got a little bit of hope left, y'know? I don't want to be the one to kill it." Yet.

"I get it." Uhura answers the unanswered question for the second time. "I knew when Christine told me you rarely sleep in your own quarters. She thinks it's you and Ikeda, by the way."

You grimace. "Ikeda? Don't you think he's a bit young?"

"That's a problem?"

You shake your head and laugh. "Right. Well, it's plausible. Discretion is the better part of valour," I reply as the doors open. I hold my hand out and add, "After you."

Uhura smiles, and I follow her out. "I imagine that in the other universe you present a challenge for the Bearded One."

"For a set-up like that, there better be a damn good story behind it."

* * *

Oh, it _was_ a damn good story.

By the time my day's ended and I get to Spock's quarters I have a fully formed, utterly disturbing fantasy in my head. He's not in yet, so I go to my quarters to retrieve something and return. I take a shower and lie on the bed, taking in his scent from his pillow, and...

The 'something' I got from my quarters? It's the Deltan device, the one I got on shore leave. How does it work? Very well when you don't have a second party available. And what's on my mind is a bit too twisted for me to share with Spock, but perfect for self-gratification. I demonstrate its use by donning the light, silvery mesh sensor band, placing it around my head so the inner circular pads touch my temples. I place the four pinky nail-sized pleasure dots on my nipples, tailbone, and just above my clitoris. I lie back, letting my mind activate the device...

* * *

(***)

I'm in the other universe Uhura told me about and backed up by the ship's logs. I'm naked and lying on Spock's bed. See, the Empire has no need for counselors, so I'm a neurologist on shift, which means I get to manipulate and sometimes damage people's synapses. Off-shift, I'm the first officer's woman, which is a polite term; the crew just calls me 'Spock's whore' under their breaths.

How I came to be in this particular position is interesting. Originally McCoy wants me, but I fight him off, sometimes literally. As a result I spend some time in the agony booth for that. Every time I finish my duration Spock is there, waiting, observing. I'm not the first female crewmember subjected to the booth, but I'm the first to have a higher threshold, so he's intrigued. I collapse in his arms, and he conducts a mind probe, and is subjected to what he calls "an astonishing level of algolagnic prurience." But when he later requests my agoniser for an infraction I can't recall, I attempt to fight him off too. He's rather amused by my tenacity; he doesn't put forth maximum effort-I'm still alive with my limbs intact. Our tussle ends with me pinned beneath him on my desk, and his fingers in my panting mouth. The act stirs something inside the usually implacable first officer. He senses my arousal and teases me with said fingers, finding my limits, asserting his dominance. "I shall claim you," he says as I'm right on the brink. "You serve the Empire, but you belong to me." He stops abruptly, makes me suck his fingers clean, and departs. As he leaves my office he tells McCoy I'm his.

Maybe I should've just given him the agoniser.

There's a bit of irony inherent in a Vulcan having his very own human _kafeh_ (slave), and it's not lost on Spock. He takes a non-expressive delight in doing things to me his Vulcan wife would never allow, not even during _pon farr_. Which is why he only sees her then. He forbids me to wear clothes in his quarters, and the only Vulcan words I'm allowed to speak are 'yes,' 'thank you' and _Otrensu_-"Master."

He enters his quarters, his brown eyes dark. He gives me a cursory glance and sits at his desk feeding calculations to his computer. I know not to disturb him, so I watch him, admire his bearded face, his hands. I want him so much I couldn't think straight earlier in the lab. Locked myself in my office and found relief via my fingers. I disobeyed Spock, and I washed my hands twice to erase the evidence. It may be of no consequence; he may not touch me tonight, the way he's engrossed in his work. I turn into his pillow in disappointment. Perhaps I should feign illness and-

"On your knees, _kafeh_." Spock is facing me fully, and he points to a space between his legs. I close the space and sit on my heels, head lowered so my hair falls around my face. He brings my hand up to his face, sniffs my fingers, and sucks them. My fingers linger on his goatee before he exposes my face by pulling my hair back and watches me process the pain in my scalp. "I did not grant you permission to please yourself," he says with a touch of coldness.

I suppress my look of surprise. He knows because he implanted the idea in my head, made what was already there more compelling. "I'm sorry, _Otrensu_, I...I couldn't-"

"Repeat the behavior, and I shall break your fingers. That should increase your self-control." He squeezes my wrist with bruising force. "Your pleasure belongs to me, do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," I reply quickly. Not all pain can become pleasurable.

I'm punished with a firmer squeeze. "Address me properly."

"_Ha, Otrensu_." It's sufficient for him to release my fingers. I tuck my hands behind me and keep my chin lowered, but my eyes on Spock as he sits back in his chair, rests his bearded chin on his fist. His eyes express a desire to take, and it is intoxicating to me.

"Attend to me," he commands.

I make taking off his clothes a slow process because this may be the only time I get to show my devotion. I smell and taste the leather as I lick his right thigh-high boot, relish the feel of his fingers sliding against my tongue, in and out of my wet mouth.

Spock leans his head back and exhales, "That's good, my human." He threads his fingers through my hair as I untie his golden sash. I reach for his dagger, but he's extremely cautious of me. I am human, and as opportunistic as any subject of the Empire. He's faster at the draw, pointing the tip just under my chin at my larynx. I lock gazes with him, and his voice develops an edge. "Be careful, _kafeh_. I do not wish for your lovely throat to be slit."

I'm afraid to swallow, and my breath takes a staccato rhythm on the way out through my nose. This could be it, and my death would be of no consequence. Or he could leave a reminder, a nick, another mark on his territory. I never know with Spock until he tells me or he does it, and I find it two parts titillating, one part frightening. He'd like an acknowledgement now. "_Ha, Otrensu,_" I say softly.

Spock places the dagger on the desk and watches me remove his jacket and undershirt. My fingers tremble partly because of longing, partly because of uncertainty. I don't know what he'll do to me, when he'll do it, or if he'll do anything at all. That's the worst, him leaving me alone. The thought of him ignoring me makes tears well up in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. There are two things I'll never give the Vulcan: my laughter and my tears. I look down and use unfastening his trousers as an excuse to not look him in the eye until the moment passes.

To my delight Spock is physically aroused, and I take him into my hand with a firm grip. I look up at his face, searching it for permission. He grants it with a slight nod, and I do not hesitate, practically inhaling his cock. I love the sounds he makes, little sighs and moans that slip out, all because of what I'm doing to him. And I have to admit to the surge of power I get, being on my knees and yet controlling his physiological response. How it gets me all worked up to please him with my mouth.

Spock knows what servicing him does to me, and he reminds me of who's really in charge by gripping the back of my head whilst thrusting himself all the way in my mouth, cutting off my air supply and making me struggle to override my gag reflex. I feel him getting harder, which pleases me despite being close to passing out. He decides to let me breathe, pulling my mouth off him by my hair. He watches my face, watches my expression change as my body distills pleasure from pain, watches me fight self-preservation and _submit_. He traces my gasping mouth with his finger. "So beautiful," he says softly. "So illogical." He yanks me up so I'm face to face and I have to support my weight by placing my hands on his thighs. His beard tickles my cheek as he speaks through gritted teeth in my ear, "So _mine_." He takes his free hand and plunges his fingers inside me, gauging my wetness whilst kissing my neck, eliciting a moan. "You are always prepared to mate with me," he muses. "You are debauched even by Terran standards." I squeeze at him and move against his hand. "I find this a most…suitable trait. You may sit," he says as he slips his fingers out.

I straddle Spock's leg close to his knee, ensuring I make contact with his leather boot. I dare not move but I want to so bad I ache. He sticks his fingers in my mouth and I can taste myself. He tries to keep an even breath; when he fails he removes them and grabs my hips. It's a silent order to grind against the soft, smooth, supple material, and I do so with aplomb. He brings my mouth within centimeters of his and hesitates before fusing them with mine in a kiss that intimates his concealed hunger. I feel pleasure building and begin to roll my hips, tribbing his boot for all I'm worth. I reach down and take his cock into my hand and stroke it. He responds by biting my bottom lip. I'm going to get past the point of no return soon, where nothing will stop me from coming. Spock knows this, which is why he lifts me up to sever contact. "Earn it, _kafeh_." My ability for cohesive thought is fading as my body wants release, wants **him**. I lick myself off his boot before I remove it and its mate; Spock does hold a high regard for cleanliness. He stands up to facilitate removing his trousers and remains so when completely naked. In silence I collect his garments, fold them neatly, and put them away, aware of his eyes on me. I kneel and resume my place before him, clasp my hands together behind my back, and place my lips where his knee meets his thigh. I begin a litany of kisses up the heated flesh of his inner thigh, imploring, "Please, _Otrensu_... Please...let me..." He knows what I'm asking for.

"No," says the Vulcan. He's told me why he makes me beg so much; there's something about the way I blend desire, desperation, and devotion in my voice, how it slips into a whisper under the weight of emotions. I move him; he just can't show it. He refuses me because he wants to maintain control; I'm just too good with fellatio sometimes.

My mouth's oh so close to reaching my intended target. "Please-''

"_No_." He yanks me up to my feet by my shoulder so I face him again. He nods toward the bed, and as I turn to head in that direction he holds me fast and presses against me, pushing my chin up and away with his palm. He bends his knees to kiss my neck whilst sliding his hand between my legs and leaves it there. I press against it, against him as he traces my jaw line. "The extent of my concupiscence for you...is beyond your comprehension." He claims my mouth, lets me feel it. "On your back, _kafeh_."

I leave his embrace to obey, spread-eagle, panting, trying not to make a sound. He could leave me like that and not touch me; he does this more often than not. Such neglect feeds a silent fury but oh, what I'd endure to have him.

He won't leave me alone tonight. Not this time. He covers my torso with his deceptively dense body. He doesn't bother to secure my wrists. He knows he doesn't have to, although he appreciates the aesthetics from time to time. He doesn't even have to suggest I lie still for him despite my body wanting to betray me. He lets his mouth and hands go where they want, and I must lie still. A caress here. A pinch there. A nuzzle, a kiss, a bite-and I must lie still. However, I do not have to be silent. Along with the sound of my sublimated, pleading voice, he's quite taken with my human, feminine skin-its softness, how supple and moist it is, its scent, its taste, its tone and texture. Scientifically, of course. He takes his time. How cruel.

I bite my already-swollen lip when he uses his mouth to play with my nipples. He gets a little rough with them, but my body spins something pleasurable out of it. He chose me because I can take everything he gives me.

Well, everything except nothing. That I have problems with.

I feel his beard at my navel now, and I simply lay my head down on the pillow and wait.

And wait. And wait.

I look down and meet his eyes.

"You do not deserve it," he says simply.

I'm crestfallen.

"I should let you alone."

"Please don't-"

"But it is what I wish to do." He laps away at me, and soon I push away at his head to keep from coming without his permission.

But he's too strong. I'll have to beg, and he knows how much I have to fight to form words. What a bastard. "_Otrensu_, please! I can't...I can't-"

"Yes you can."

"_Please!_" It's starting to _hurt_, this need for release.

Spock taps my inner thigh twice, and I come so hard I almost break his nose with the force my pelvis strikes it.

Spock doesn't waste time with me, doesn't give me a moment to recover. He takes me. Gods, does he take me. Rough doesn't even begin to describe it, the way he thrusts, holds on to me, leaves bruises where his fingers press into me. And I love it. Am addicted to it. Can't live without it. He's had me in every way humanly and sometimes inhumanly possible. He pounds me as if each thrust were a declaration that I am his and his alone. He always makes me beg-for more, for mercy, for my orgasm.

Spock makes me scream. Then he makes me _scream_. He uses the agoniser on me while I'm coming because he finds the way I ride the pain and spin it into pleasure "fascinating."

(***)

* * *

That last thought makes the nodes on the Deltan device glow and I physically feel filled, penetrated. Signals sent from the head harness to the node near my clit makes it twitch violently. I muffle my cries with my pillow and wait for the convulsions to stop before relaxing and beginning anew.

* * *

(***)

Uhura says that universe's Sulu is Chief of Security and bears a nasty scar that curves down from forehead to cheek. I imagine how he got it.

I know it's dangerous, but I provoke Spock in an attempt to elicit an emotional response. Sulu despises the Vulcan for being in the way _and_ for being a Vulcan. So I just happen to end up reclining on Sulu's bed one evening when Spock's planetside enforcing terms of surrender. Sulu's been chasing after Uhura, but he's not one to pass up an opportunity when it's lying right in front of him. Sex with him is good, but it's not great because of his human limitations. I like hearing him use his deep voice to talk dirty, like hearing it almost crack when he comes. Afterward, he meets the away team in the transporter room smelling like me, making sure Spock picks up on it.

Spock picks up on it. He orders Sulu to his quarters and has his personal guard hold him while he melds with me to learn every single detail of our tryst. I don't bother to hide any of it, and I can sense the rage that flames his green blood. Spock _burns_ and only I know, he shields his emotions so well. No one's getting agonised-he's going to make an example. In the time it takes a human to unsheathe a dagger he slashes Sulu's face, has him dragged out screaming. He's made his point; there isn't a man on this ship mad enough to touch me now.

He turns to me. His expression is somewhat harrowing to me. I've got my desired effect, but I'm going to pay a high price for it. He tells me my cuckolding failed to compel him to beat or belittle me. It doesn't stop him from putting his hand round my throat while he tells me the only way he'll release me is by killing me, but he would surely grieve my loss. He kisses me while still in this position and then lets go abruptly, and does the one thing I'd rather take the agony booth over. He tells me to leave his quarters not to return.

A long, painful month passes before Spock summons me to his quarters. Once there he strips me and makes me watch while he has sex with Uhura. He intentionally leaves his computer interface on because he knows Sulu's monitoring. He positions her for show, making the act more of a performance. He keeps his eyes on me. He comes so easily for her. He makes me clean him up with my tongue. Then he makes me clean _her_ up. He dismisses her and shuts off any transmissions while I'm lying in bed. When he returns he takes me with pure intensity. I realise he's done punishing me. Spock does what he does to have me. "You are only for me, _kafeh_," he says as he interlocks his hand with mine. "Only for me..."

(***)

* * *

This time when I climax, I turn to cry into my pillow only to realize lean, hot flesh has taken its place. I press up against my lover made real as he holds me, strokes me. I sob with my release. He kisses my forehead whilst the Deltan device stops glowing and I get my eyes back in focus.

"Fascinating," Spock says as his fingertips glide over the pad covering my temple, causing me to shiver slightly.

I have a lazy grin on my face as I go limp against him. "I started without you," I say as I caress his smooth chin and cheek. "Sorry. Couldn't wait."

"I find the observation…stimulating." He flicks one of the nodes on my nipples, which makes me suck in my breath. "I am curious as to what inspired you to indulge in 'healthy human behavior,' as you once called it."

"I was imagining you with a beard."

That gets a cocked eyebrow. "I am intrigued by the frequency a few crewmembers fantasize about this barbaric and oppressive 'mirror universe'." He threads his fingers through my hair. "Would you prefer I embody some of my counterpart's proclivities?"

"No," I reply, stroking his earlobe. "That bloke's nasty."

"And are you the same in that universe?" he asks against my neck. Gods, how much more do I appreciate his clean-shaven face.

"Uh-uh. He has to make her behave."

"Indeed. Your statement does not lend me to believe you two are different." He presses against the node on my coccyx whilst kissing me, and I press up against him, moaning into his mouth. "He desires her?" he asks when he breaks the kiss.

"According to him, beyond all human comprehension," I answer after my last spasm.

Spock meets my gaze with intensity. "Then he and I are not different." He slides his hands over mine as he begins to make a trail to each node with his mouth. "Begin with him. End with me…."


	22. Chapter 22

"Celeste?"

I stir at the sound, but it's not enough to rouse me. It's not Spock's voice, but it's familiar.

"Celeste!"

I wipe my eyes at that and wrest myself gently from Spock's embrace. I see the form before me and do a double take. "Lysander? You're—you're—"

"Still am, sister." Those bright eyes. Those freckles. That goofy smile.

"Then you should be in your next life now." I look down and around at the white gown I'm wearing. I normally sleep in the nude. Then again, my brother's normally not standing in Spock's room. "Wait, I'm not-"

"Not yet."

"Oh, good." I nod at what I now know is a construct of my mind. Doesn't matter. "How I've missed you lately."

"Ah, look at how beautiful you've become. Starfleet Medical—not bad." He whistles before he gets serious. "What are you doing?" He makes a slight nodding motion in my direction, over me. "What are you doing with the Vulcan?"

I laugh. "Things I'm not comfortable telling my older brother's spirit, that's what."

Lysander scowls. "That's not what I meant."

I look back over at Spock's still sleeping form. "He's fond of me. Incredible, isn't it?"

"Oh, give over, Cel," he says, calling me by his nickname. "You can tell me how you feel about him."

"I... I-" I put my face in my hands. "Oh, I don't know, Ly." I look at him and sigh. "Gods, it's like you're almost real."

Lysander tsks. "Don't deflect—"

"I'm not deflecting."

"Yes you are." He's the scamp I remember.

I'm petulant, like I'm twelve again. "No, I'm- Okay, this is madness."

"Why are you so afraid to live?"

"What?" I stand up, not bothering to worry about waking Spock. "You don't have the right to ask me that," I say with anger in my voice. "I found you...held your dead body in my arms, and I needed you, did you know that? I _still_ need you."

"You never needed me, little sister."

"I did! Your leaving me, Ly...it fucked me up. Really badly." I hold back tears and look back down at the bed. "Okay, I can tell you because you're gone anyway. You know what I feel with Spock? _Alive_. Which is more than you can ever say. Maybe in your next life you can." I give myself a sad smile. "I need you here, alive, to ask me these questions until I can tell you I-Lysander, where are you going?" I reach out to him as he fades. "Come back, brother..."

* * *

"Come back," I continue, calling out my brother's name until Spock places a hand on my temple, rousing me. I sit up and turn away from the Vulcan's touch.

"You were dreaming audibly," he says at my back. "Again."

I don't turn to face him in reply, choosing to prevent tears from falling. "I don't want to talk about it, so don't ask."

"You are vexed, _aitlun-veh_." He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Let me help."

I stiffen up. "No need. It's a...physiological response."

Spock removes his hand and gets up to begin the day. It's the first time I sense anything close to frustration at my reticence. "I find I am beginning to prefer honest human emotion to these defensive and duplicitous 'physiological responses'." I sigh in exasperation as I see the back of him before the door to the head closes. Can't recall what happens right after that.

* * *

The next thing I remember is this bastard of a headache and my smarting humerus courtesy of Lieutenant Ikeda's _jo_ staff. That's gonna leave a bruise. Not only did I not block, his strike put me square on my arse. "I'm all right, Tom," I tell him as he helps me up.

Ikeda puts both of our weapons away. "I think we should stop. Your mind's been in a fog all morning."

"I agree with the lieutenant," Sulu interrupts. He's been waiting to use the space for fencing, and doesn't mind watching the practice. "I think you should go to Sickbay and get checked out."

I rub my temple. Then I clutch my bicep. I was going to protest, but I get a strong incentive to think better of it. "Yeah, I don't think that's a bad idea." I don't bother to change into my uniform, arriving at Sickbay in my white _gi _and black _hakama_.

As Chapel looks at my arm she tells me McCoy's conducting Kirk's annual exam, so Doctor M'Benga's available. Good, I can kill two birds with one stone.

M'Benga's rather cordial today. "What seems to be the problem, Doctor Parker?"

I cover half of my face with my hand. "Doctor, I think I'm losing my mind."

The doctor raises his eyebrow. "More your department, isn't it?" I smile at his levity. I'm sure it didn't go too well during his internship on Vulcan. I follow him as he approaches one of the beds in the bay. "Well, we're all crazy on this ship, but what is your particular malaise?"

"I'm losing track of time. Can't remember parts of my day, there's an increase of lucid dreams, some of them bad, head's killing me."

"Mm-hmm." He pats the examination bed. "Hop up. Let's take a look at your vitals." I lie down, and he adds, "How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?"

"The headache I just noticed today. The dreams and missing time? Honestly I'm not sure; maybe a few weeks with the dreams."

"Your adrenalin and cortisone levels are a bit high, but I expect a high level of stress from someone as driven as you." M'Benga keeps an eye on the screen above my head. "Tell me-have you felt like you're not yourself?"

I shake my head. "More like there's a part of me holding on for dear life to...what defines me." I began to realize what's going on.

"I see." He's not far behind me. "Tell me, how exactly are you gathering information about your research subject?"

"The usual. Interviews, Batteries of tests, questionnaires, notes from sessions with the subject-"

"And how about the unusual?" M'Benga adds. He doesn't wait for my answer, allowing me to sit up. "You're suffering from the effects of a Vulcan mind meld."

"Well, Doctor, Commander Spock graciously offered the opportunity to experience a unique event first-hand. It probably won't pass peer review, but anecdotal evidence-"

"Except you've done it more than once. Enough for your mind to attempt to reject a bond." He crosses his arms.

"Look, Doctor—"

M'Benga holds up his hand, signaling that I don't need to go further. "I get it. I understand the mind meld is a unique, sublime experience—"

"You 'understand'? You mean you never—"

"Nooo. Personally, it's not for me. But for someone in your field of expertise, your scientific curiosity must be overwhelming. And it's not something First Officer Spock would offer lightly, especially not more than once." He prepares a hypo spray. "But you're human, Celeste; remember that. I don't have to tell you the risk you take when you do anything to alter your mind." He turns round and continues. "So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to prescribe a regimen of lexorin. And you're going to get some rest. Do you meditate?"

"Yes."

"Continue. Neuropressure is better than sedatives for sleep in my opinion. Reduce your coffee intake-"

"Doctor M'Benga—"

"Two cups a day max. Doctor's orders. And that's an eight-ounce cup—"

I gasp. "What? Oh, you can't—"

"You want to make it one?" M'Benga's expression is stern, and I capitulate, rolling up the sleeve of my uninjured arm. He injects me. "Good."

The pressure in my sinuses begin to ease up. "Doctor, my chart-"

"The official diagnosis will be artificial gravitation-related stress. Common in Martians, given their atmospheric demands are slightly less than the Earth-based ones on Starfleet vessels."

I smile again. "Thank you for understanding, Doctor."

M'Benga nods. "See me in the morning. And tell Mr. Spock to keep his mind to himself until you can build up a tolerance."


	23. Chapter 23

When it rains on Earth, it pours, or so the saying goes. It's no different on the _Enterprise_.

I'm not ten minutes gone from being properly attired before I'm summoned to the captain's quarters. Captain Kirk bid me sit down. "Doctor, we received a distress signal from the Trinity system. I've called you here because I need your assessment and...historical background."

I offer a perplexed expression as I remain upright in the chair. "Sir, I-I don't understand."

"It's from the _Bellona_."

My lips turn into a thin line as my only outward display. Inside, my head is reeling and my heart's sinking. "Captain, the _Bellona_ was lost almost twenty years ago." Seventeen years, five months, and three days, to be exact.

"You're aware of the circumstances of the hervoyage?"

"Yes, sir. A crew of 170 Martian colonists, nineteen of them from the Cydonian region. Missionaries." I shrug. "And that's about the extent of my 'historical background'; I was a teenager when it launched."

"There were only two of her crew in the transmission; I want you to review it. I want your impression of who they are...or were. Whether this is a search and rescue or a recovery mission, we're going to find out what happened. I'll expect a full report once we approach the Trinity system."

I nod. "Aye, sir."

My response is too soft a delivery for Kirk to dismiss it out of hand. "If there are going to be any...problems with this, Doctor, I want to be the first to know. I'm counting on your expertise and professionalism."

I muster a steely demeanour. "There won't be any problems, Captain." A terrifying thought runs through my head. _She could be alive_.

* * *

I lie on my couch with the lights dimmed. I choose to spend this time between appointments to close my eyes and indulge in a little nap, wait for the lexorin to kick in. Or at least try. Because I don't want to think about the distress call. I don't have the strength to think about _her_ right now.

About a minute later, I open my eyes at the sound of the door. "Come," I say, preparing to give the visitor my undivided attention. Spock enters, stands before me and I rise to my feet. "It's not our time, Commander."

"I am inquiring about your current physical state," the Vulcan replies. "Doctor M'Benga mentioned you sustained an injury."

I push my shoulder forward and very gently pat the area between my bicep and tricep; my sleeve obscures the bruise. "I lost an argument with Lieutenant Ikeda's staff. Hurts like a bastard."

"Lieutenant Ikeda is a master of his art. He should be more observant of his opponents."

I roll my eyes at that. The delivery's nonchalant as ever, but I get his meaning. "You should be less protective." I look back at the couch to sit down. "And I should be more focused on my training."

Spock remains standing. "You seem to be distracted lately. I am deeply concerned for your well-being."

For some strange reason, I'm irked by his probing. "I thank you for your concern, but it's all in hand. I just need some rest."

The Vulcan's not buying my cool deflection. "I do not understand your proclivity to minimize your distress."

My look says _don't start_. "Look, Spock, you don't have to worry about me. I can deal with my own issues-"

"You mean your emotions." He manages to say that without a sense of distaste at the word _emotions_.

I'm at a loss for about one second. "I find it rather absurd a Vulcan wants to discuss how I feel," I retort reflexively, coldly.

"You are not 'dealing' with your emotions, you are fleeing them."

I snap, "Right, because suppressing them's the better choice." I'm pushing because he's right—I'd rather argue with him than sit there and think about _her_.

"Your verbal assaults in an attempt to drive me from your presence is futile." I didn't think Spock could stand any stiffer.

I rub my temple. When the hell's the damned lexorin supposed to take effect? "I might as well say it now—I'm sleeping in my own quarters until I get my bearings back."

Silence fills and swells between us before Spock takes in air and exhales without sound. "That is understandable, if personally undesirable."

I put my hand up, began to talk with it in exasperation. "You don't get it, do you? I. Am about. To fall. Apart." I show him how to do a proper sigh. "And I don't want you to be a part of it. I know how uncomfortable you get when humans get emotional."

"Though I do find human displays of some emotions uncomfortable, it is not intolerable. I suspect that you find your own emotions intolerable."

I concede. No point in pretending I have a position any further. "You don't 'suspect', Spock. You _know_. Doctor M'Benga told you everything."

"He did not have to, _aitlun-veh_." The Vulcan sits next to me on the couch. "We have been as one; I am acutely aware of your disturbed state."

"I think I've asked you to help me forget my bad dreams, and I shouldn't've asked that of you. I can't even remember doing it, but I must have." I place my hands on my thighs. I'm not going to wait for his confirmation or denial; he wouln't offer it, and he didn't need to. "Up until now, I've slept soundly with you. I haven't done that in years. Now my mind's punishing me for it."

"I am also aware there are other stressors a regimen of lexorin will not ameliorate. Allow me to offer you solace." I look away, but Spock places his hand on my shoulder to hold my gaze. "You trust me with your pleasure. Trust me with your pain. Stop running."

"The distress call from the _Bellona_." My arms are crossed loosely and my fingers dig into my palms as I make fists. "Apparently there's a chance...I have problems saying it aloud."

"This is in no way unique. Make an attempt."

"One of the women in the transmission...she's the one...my brother..." I sink my head on his shoulder, still holding back.

Spock wedges his fingers in my fists to pry my fingers apart. "Cease your 'physiological responses,'" he says into my hair.

"She never told him. " I slip my arms round him and let the tears out in the hope I can stop. "Maybe that's why I dreamt about him as of late." Spock is unmovable, steady, constant as I hold him. I am sure of him; I would never do this in front of another living human being. We sit still as I cry for two people now that _she's_ relevant again.

And then something happens. My fingers stop clenching his back and I stop. Although my chest hurts, my breathing stops being ragged and matches up to his. "Moments like this I wish I could be emotionally detached, like you."

Spock puts a bit of space between us at that. "Let me see your face," he says.

"I don't want you to see-"

"Look at me, Celeste." I wince when he brings his hand toward my face, but I relent. He slips his fingers under my chin to facilitate me meeting his eyes. "Your enhanced objectivity is relatable, but not always desirable."

I'm puzzled. "Explain."

He brushes my hair aside and traces my tears with his thumb. "One component of your allure is your strength of will. Even your mind resists a perceived loss of identity, thus your current ailment."

"Yeah. Bloody paragon of strength, me. The tear stain on your shoulder's a testament to it."

"Another component is your humanity. Primitive though it may be, you have the capacity to feel without destroying yourself. I cannot; it is my burden to bear. Of all of the self-imposed purgatories, do not attempt to make this yours. It is illogical to experience joy and not expect to ever experience sorrow."

"'Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.' Not everyday one hears a Vulcan paraphrase Kahlil Gibran." I notice my head feels better and my levity's returned.

So has his. "Are you surprised I am familiar with his work?"

"Barely anything about you surprises me anymore, Spock." I place my head back on his shoulder and tighten my embrace.

He runs his hands up and down my spine in response. "I shall not abandon you in your time of need. I am here for you."

I sigh deeply. "I am grateful for you." I break the embrace and reach for a box of tissues on the table. "I think I'll be alright. I do need some rest, which means I'm serious about sleeping alone with the help of sedatives if need be. I have to do this. It's temporary, I assure you. Very temporary."

"Indeed," Spock replies, "very temporary." He covers my hand with his, massages my fingers. "Doctor M'Benga suggested neuropressure sessions as part of your convalescence."

"Oh, I thought he would administer-"

"I would prefer he did not." Spock's interruption had a bit of an edge; it returns to its neutral state as he continues. "Neuropressure involves establishing a level of intimacy between participants."

"He didn't mention that." I give the Vulcan a little smile. "Well, you're welcome to stop by la—oh, Spock!" My eyes widen, my mouth waters, and my toes begin to tingle. Oh, I've been here before, just not at the very beginning, and definitely not from a mere press on the palm. "You...you're starting something…you can't…um, finish?"

"You humans are not as complicated as you believe yourselves to be," Spock says, closing the distance between his mouth and where my shoulder meets my neck, but not making contact. "You possess mere millions of sensory receptors. Of these, you have—"

"My gods!—"

"—a certain number on particular parts of your remarkable, porous skin that responds to a precise amount of touch." He slides his index and middle fingers up to my inner wrist and presses, eliciting a gasp. "An application of neuropressure, the nerve pinch, can be used to incapacitate. Other ministrations can cause—" Another ecstatic press. "—this. The human body is fascinating."

I don't think I can feel my legs, but I still have my wits about me. Sort of. "A-Aren't you needed on the bridge?"

"Doctor, I shall make that determination." He slips the fingers of his other hand at the back of the knee.

I'm not supposed to feel like this, not this soon. But my mind is focused and nothing aches now. Well, almost nothing. "Fair enough, Commander. B-But we both know Lieutenant Uhura's…gonna…gonna summon you…on behalf of the captain…any moment."

Spock nuzzles my neck. "That is probable."


	24. Chapter 24

I pour myself another cup of coffee as I listen to Sulu tell me what usually happens in tactical meetings. Kirk has summoned me to my first on the _Enterprise_.

"Be careful about everything you present to the captain. If your assessment is scientifically unsound, mathematically off, or too emotional, Mr. Spock will poke holes in it."

"Not my first rodeo, Hikaru. I've spent a month and a half with him doing crew evaluations." I stir in sugar as I continue. "Commander Spock's not my biggest concern. Captain Kirk, however, is another story."

"He won't take it easy on you, if that's what you expect. But he wouldn't ask you here if wasn't confident in your abilities."

I lift my mug off the table when the doors slide open. Kirk, Spock, Scott, and McCoy walk in. McCoy takes the mug out of my hand on the way to his seat. "Thank you, Counselor."

I lower my head whilst tightening my jaw. I should congratulate myself-I managed to get Spock and McCoy to agree on something. We take our seats and I resign myself to a glass of water while Kirk speaks.

"Gentlemen, and Doctor Parker, we have orders from Starfleet to discover the fate of the _Bellona's_ crew and rescue any survivors. We are also conducting a factfinding mission on the inhabitants of this system. Ideas on where to look?"

"The seventh planet of this trinary star system is the most likely candidate for survivors," Spock says. "It is a ringed Class M planet, atmosphere nitrogen/oxygen, surface is only 60% water around the rings. Scanners show high amounts of kelbonite ore at the poles and asteroids that compose the rings. The kelbonite limits scanner use as well as that of phasers and transporters. From what we can gather from scanner readings and Lieutenant Uhura's monitoring of communications, the dominant society is capable of interstellar flight but seems to be militant, gynocratic, and recovering from a planetary-scale war."

Kirk turns to me. "Doctor Parker, your assessment."

I take in what Spock has just said. I can't believe she and those crazy bitches did it. "Captain, we've got a problem. It's no longer a rescue mission."

"Explain."

"Well, the _Bellona's_ crew consisted of Astarthanai missionaries, an radical offshoot of one of the major post-colonial religions of Mars. They worship the war goddess Astartha and are highly adaptable to any environment that can sustain life. They're an ecclesiastic matriarchy that cares little for the Prime Directive. They've not just contaminated the indigenous population, they may have started the war. We will encounter a unique purely female-led civilization."

Spock gives me a pointed look. "This crew has had experiences of that nature before. The society of Cygnet XIV, for example."

"I don't believe you have, Commander," I say evenly. "They are as fanatic about pragmatic faith as Vulcans are about logic. A cleric would prefer to cut your head off than 'giggle'."

Kirk smirks a bit at the exchange. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. In fact, I'm counting on you, Doctor Parker, to get through to them."

I'm taken aback a bit. I wasn't expecting to go down with them, but I can see how things have changed. I'm going to be part of the Away Team. "As a negotiator, sir? Or as a Martian female?"

"Whichever is most effective, Counselor. We're going to find out what happened, and if these women would rather talk to you than me, then we're going to make that happen."

I shake my head in doubt. "As long as these cultists run the planet, they're not going to let the Federation anywhere near the population."

"Then you have your work cut out for you." The captain looks to his Chief Engineer. "Scotty, can we beam down at all? We can't risk further contamination with a shuttlecraft."

"If we're far enough away from the rings, we're fine. But with the_ Bellona's_ wreckage directly under 'em, I'll have to use auxillary power to give ye a small window. And that goes for scanners, and phasers. It's also gonna be hard to keep her steady during the pass."

"That's not going to be a major problem, Captain," Sulu chimes in.

"Good to hear, Mr. Sulu." He turns back to Scott. "How small is that window?"

"About fifteen minutes. Next one opens in twenty."

"After which the Enterprise will lose contact for fourteen solar hours," Spock adds.

Kirk puts both of his elbows on the table. "Alright, the landing party will consist of myself, Doctor Parker, and get me those two female Security officers, Lieutenants…." Female crewmembers' names tend to escape Kirk for some reason; here's no exception.

Spock fills in the blank. "Lieutenants Yarborough and Owens are up on the roster that meet your qualifications, Captain."

"Right. Mr. Spock, you have the con."

The Vulcan is bothered by his omission from the team. "Captain, I must—"

"Spock, I need you here minding the store, and I'm gonna need you up here if negotiations get aggressive." Kirk pushes his chair back in an act of finality. "Transporter room, twenty minutes."

We all stand when Kirk gets up and leaves, the staff files out except for Spock. I'm the last to leave. "I have to go," I tell him as I walk around the table to exit. "I've got to get a tricorder from Sickbay and my doses from Doctor Mbenga. I'm sure Doctor McCoy will want to—" I walk past him, and he takes my upper arm in a grip, stopping me. I look up at him, watch his features harden in the slightest degree.

"Lieutenant Uhura will be monitoring your frequency closely when we can manage it. Ensure you check in every fourteen hours."

I narrow my eyes. "I will be fine." He doesn't relent.

He leans forward to close the gap between us. "I am not comfortable with you down on the surface under these circumstances."

"_Nobody's_ comfor-oh, I get it now." I'm poleaxed. "Spock, don't-don't do this," I say before yanking my arm from his loosened grip. "I'm doing my job. Don't expect anything more to happen." I walk out as hastily as I professionally can.

* * *

The three of us stand silently in the turbo lift as it heads to the transporter room, but the tension is almost palpable. I look straight ahead, over Kirk's shoulder at the doors, mimicking Spock's stance-feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind my back. I can't see his face clearly through my peripheral vision, but I know he's looking at me. I release my hand and reach out behind him. He responds by brushing his two fingers against my inner wrist before sliding them up my palm and pressing them to mine. It's such a surreptitious and utterly tender act. I continue to look ahead, yet I offer him the slightest curl of my lip.

It's too short. The doors to the lift open and we file down the corridor to the transporter room, where the two security guards and Scott are waiting. I'm not a big fan of having my molecules scattered all over the place. As I step up to the platform and stand on the pads Kirk looks at me, then exchanges glances with Spock. "She's in good hands."

I nod at Spock, pretending Kirk only meant the _Enterprise. _"We'll be careful, Commander." I suck in my breath and wait for Kirk to say, "Energize."


	25. Chapter 25

The landing party rematerialises at the crash site of the _Bellona_. Most of the chassis has been covered by vegetation within the crater, and a there's a large rusted hole near the bridge area, but I can make out the red wings and the first three letters of the label on the front. Kirk has the security officers do a sweep of the perimeter whilst I take readings from my tricorder. I get preliminary readings-no high levels of radiation, but they go dead. "Captain, the kelbonite is very high in this area."

Kirk takes out his communicator and tries to contact Enterprise, but to no avail. "And I bet phasers don't work, either. Damn."

I look up at the sky at what looks to be a wide white bridge-like stripe across the middle of the lavender sky and three suns to the left of it. "We're directly under the rings."

Yarbrough and Owens return. The taller one with the light brown bob, Owens, tells Kirk it's all clear. I wonder if there are any ugly people on the _Enterprise_. Kirk gives them new direction. "Watch the entrance while we conduct a physical search of the ship, see if we can still access the computer."

I wait for them to watch the hole before asking, "Captain, what are we going to do if we encounter trouble? Our phasers don't work."

"They don't know that," he says with a small smile.

We go through the hole with Faraday lights and start looking around for access to any power for the ship's computer. As I'm standing over the helm panel, I'm thinking about _her_, the last time I saw her, all teeth and willowy limbs and flowing caramel brown hair as she embraced Lysander. Can't remember the colour of her eyes, but I recall her voice as she addressed me. "_Little Celeste_," she called me, wasn't it?

"Doctor?"

Wait, that's not right. That sounds like-

"Doctor Parker!"

I stand up straight and turn my head to the captain's chair. "Yes, Captain?"

Kirk's staring at me intently. "I'm asking if you think we'll find the survivors?"

"There's a pretty good chance, sir. Do you know it was the Astarthanai that lobbied to carve the Face on Mars? Said it was always meant to be there. They're determined enough, and that's saying a lot for Martians."

"Did you know any of them?"

"They left so long ago—"

"That's not an answer," Kirk says. "You've been acting strange since I mentioned this mission. If there's something personal—"

Yarbrough pulls me out of the fire. "Captain, someone's approaching."

"Let me try to talk to them, buy us time."

Kirk's interrupted by a rumbling that shakes the deck beneath us, which pitches me into him. He catches me, holds me steady. I'm about to protest, but he silences me with his index finger. "That's more than someone," he says _sotto voce_. "How many are out there?"

Owens answers, "I can't determine, sir."

"Stay out of sight until we can come up with a plan." He looks down at me. "Are you all right, Doctor?"

"I'm fine, sir." He releases me, and I go for levity. "Here's my prediction: either this is going to be the most boring mission we'll ever undertake or we'll end up captured, one or both the security officers are going to die, you will punch and/or kiss our way out, and Spock will beam us aboard in the nick of time."

Kirk takes the bait. "You think so, Doctor?"

"I've read three years of mission logs." I look toward the entrance. "Let me take the security officers and talk to them whilst you stay hidden in the ship."

"We stay together," Kirk replies. "And we're sitting ducks here for at least the next thirteen and a half hours, so we might as well come out in peace."

I lead the party out of the ship with my hand up. We're surrounded by female humanoids in black feather-like armour with grey bird like wings. My mouth's gaped open at the sight of…angels? "W-we're looking for our friends," I say, putting my hands back over my shoulders to denote our differences. "From abroad. We could use your help."

One of the females points a glowing red staff-like weapon at Kirk. "We do not help heretics," she says with her flanged voice. "You will come with us or you will all die." As they take our useless phasers, I mutter, "I hate being right."

And the pain of having the backs of our heads butted before we pass out? Yeah, just adds to the humiliation.

* * *

I wake up alone in a completely white room. I'm disoriented; I don't know if it's the lighting that's making dimensions hard to discern. No windows, no doors. Just white. I'm almost sick to my stomach. After an indeterminate amount of time, a black hole opens, and a winged female with blue-tinted skin, all-blue eyes, emerges and the hole closes after her. "Identify yourself," she says with her flanged voice. Her teeth are an inky blue, but straight, perfect.

I refuse to give her my fear, although there is a great deal of it. I clear my throat. "My crew—"

"_Identify yourself!"_

It's strange, her voice entering my head. "I'm…." I shake my head in defiance. "I'm a woman concerned for her crew."

She raises her hand, and I can make out a red orb. I feel severe heat, as if my flesh is about to boil, and I scream out in pain. "**Identify**—"

"That's not necessary, Cleric," a normal human voice chimes in from a pearly-white hooded figure. She must have entered shortly after. "I know who she is." As the glowing of the red sphere dies down as well as my pain, she drops the hood. I see that caramel brown hair breaking up the white, the crow's feet and laugh lines around dead eyes—one jade green, one milky white. She adds, "Little Celeste Desmoulin. It's been a long time."

I look at my hands to make sure I'm not really burnt. "Apparently…not long enough, Romana," I say as I gain my strength. "I thought you were dead."

The female's voice reverts back to what I assume is her normal voice. "You know this heretic, Seraph?"

"This heretic is from my world."

"This one is different. This one does not respond to vocal conditioning."

"I see. Why is that, little Celeste?" She smiles, and there's her white teeth.

I don't return it. "You can stop calling me that now. 'Doctor Parker' will do nicely, thank you."

"Oh, you're a doctor now! And taken a male mate." The female registers a look of disgust as Romana continues. "Starfleet's quite a career choice for you. Which means that somewhere up there there's a starship waiting for you."

"Waiting for us," I say, heaving. "You're going to be held accountable for what you and your sisters have done to this planet."

Romana scoffs. "Give us a minute, Cleric."

The woman leaves the room, leaving me alone with the woman that left my brother years ago for this. "I know the male is the one with the highest rank, so you can stop pretending." Romana drops her smile, gives a look of concern. "How is Lysander doing?"

You can't believe she's even asking. "He's dead, Romana. Your leaving killed him, changed me."

"I am sorry to hear about that. I am."

"Go to hell," I say through gritted teeth.

"But I did what I had to do." She squats down to close the space. "We thought we were doomed. We got too close to the rings, with the kelbonite. There was a collision with one of the asteroids. Took out all but three of us when we crashed. And then we became the Blessed to the ornithopes, the angels that inhabit this planet. A trinity, like their three suns. They heard our words—"

"And started a literal war of the sexes, just like you tried on Mars." I cross my arms. "And let me guess—the superior knowledge you had gave the females the advantage."

"They already _had_ the advantage! The females have a way of controlling people with just their voices. It was a sign from Asthartha."

If I wasn't sickened before, I am now. "How many millions died under this sign?"

"No, not millions. Billions. Leaving the best of their kind for us to rule. We changed the face of the planet."

You cover your mouth with your hand. "Oh my Gods!"

"There is only one here, and she has shown me that all we did is what we had to do." She grabs my chin. "And now so do you, Celeste. You're going to tell us everything we need to know, and you're going to get the man to get his crew down here for processing."

I pull away from her and narrow my eyes. "What do you mean by 'processing'?"

"Good question. I mean that every single male will be executed as well as any female that cannot be integrated."

I'm laughing at her and there's no mirth in it. "It is my professional opinion that you and your feathered friends are completely fucking mad."

"You think this is a game?" Romana's face tightened into a scowl. "Cleric, the screen." A black oval opens in what I'm assuming is an opposite wall. "Watch your captain die, Celeste."

The screen shows Kirk in agony as his back being struck repeatedly with what looks like red lightning from a handle, ripping cloth and flesh. You reach out to her in desperation. "All right, stop this, dammit! Romana, I'll give you what you want, just don't harm my crew anymore!"

Romana raises her hand, and the whipping stops. The screen shrinks back into white.

"Much as this bothers me greatly, I will indulge you. Have your man as well as your guards with you. It makes no difference. Your ship will bring more people down to find you—and we will destroy every last one." She raises her hand, and the black hole opens for her to walk through, leaving me deeply defeated. What have I done?


End file.
